


I Don't Care, I'm Not Scared Of Love

by justyouraveragestoryteller



Category: Larry - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, He's a dick, I'm so bad at tagging, Louis has an ex-boyfriend, M/M, Nightmares, Please read, Slow Burn, lots of misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-09-06 11:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justyouraveragestoryteller/pseuds/justyouraveragestoryteller
Summary: Louis hates reading books. Harry thinks he can change that....Harry looks up, bewildered. “What are you on about?”“I’m gay. He’s gay. We were together for years. Grow the fuck up.”“Christ. I’m not a fucking homophobe, Louis, I’m in love with you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This work originally had about 9 or 10 chapters posted last year before I took it down. Long story short, I'm back again and have decided to finish it. (Promise!)
> 
> I don't currently have a posting schedule as I'm working on another multi-chapter fic, but I normally post every week (give or take a few days).
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- J xx

In retrospect, Louis realized taking the job at the bookstore wasn’t his brightest idea. 

He hated reading.  _ Hated _ it. 

The thought of managing a place filled with books and people that loved them, well, it wasn’t all that appealing. 

  
Then again, it didn’t matter. It never would. Louis didn’t have the luxury of being indecisive. The job paid ridiculously well and he needed the money. So did Dan, though he’d never admit it. Mum was gone. Louis had to support the people she’d left behind. 

If that meant he had to leave behind the person he wanted to be, and the life he’d built in the process, he would. 

He did. 

… 

_ Doncaster  _

Bebe agreed to go with him to the interview, and although he’d been the one to drag her all this way North, Louis would’ve felt more comfortable with her back at his flat. 

Her bleached hair and bright lips earned them not one, but several strange looks as they walked to the store. This was the older part of town, so a little attention was expected, but Bebe’s fashion often took it to new levels. In the girl’s defense, she was a Londoner. Born-and-raised. She’d never been out of the city limits, aside from the occasional trip to Cardiff. Visiting the small town Louis had grown up in a was a bit of a culture-shock, to say the least. 

“Christ, watch it,” Louis pulled Bebe to his side as a woman nearly walked into her. “Get off your phone,” He scolded. “You’re walking like a Londoner.” 

“I  _ am _ a Londoner!” 

Another passerby stopped in his tracks to gawk at Bebe’s outfit. 

“B,” Louis warned as the girl turned around, ready to engage. “Don’t. He’s just curious.”

“He’s got some nerve,” She mutters. “Staring like that, I’ve got half a mind on me-” 

Louis doesn’t have the energy to reply or listen to the rest of her sentence. He crosses the street, tugging the girl along gently. 

“We’re going to be late.” He told her. They needed to be there in five minutes. 

“Fine,” She huffed, though she’s reluctant to follow. “I’m not charmed so far, Lou.”

“As if,” Louis nods at her clothes, a skin tight bodysuit, torn vintage jeans, and combat boots. “You’re a bit much for Yorkshire.”  
  
“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
“Christ,” He sighed, giving up. “Never mind.”  
  
Bebe was a hairstylist Louis met and worked with in London before moving back home to help his family, about six months after he’d realized (a little late), that he wasn’t cut out for beauty school. They’d grown close during their time together, but Bebe was going back to London in two weeks to accept a promotion at a new fashion label. Louis was stuck here. 

_ “What about modeling?”  _ His mentor had asked while Louis cleaned out his locker. “ _ Your look is high-fashion, it’s what everyone wants.” _

And no one. 

… 

Despite several run-ins with the unsuspecting pedestrian, Louis and Bebe made it just in time. They burst through the bookstore as the owner, Paul, was closing up for the day.

“Lou!” Paul cried, a happy grin overtaking otherwise stoic features. He stared for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. “My days, you’ve grown.” 

“Cheers,” Louis grinned sheepishly. “S’ good to be back.”

Paul was a burly, bespectacled man with hair that seemed to stick up in every direction, no matter how he combed it. Louis had known Paul since he was six years old. Looking at him now, it was clear he hadn’t changed at all.

Sure, by now Paul’s hair was grey and he wore a pair of frames to help him read, but he was still the bookstore owner that would take pity on Louis during revising time. Louis remembers six, seven years back when he would all but break into the shop for help with research for Uni papers. This normally happened before six in the morning, because Louis had a job at the coffee shop down the block when he was in school. Those were the days. 

“Come back ‘round,” Paul nodded to his office. “We should chat. Your friend’s welcome to have a look.”   
  
Louis doesn’t miss the way Bebe blushes as she murmurs her thanks, and steps towards the many shelves to start ‘looking’. Louis would tease her for it later. Paul was quite the silver fox now. 

…

Afterwards, Louis took Bebe to a favorite restaurant of his, a small cafe a few minutes from the bookstore. It was a bit crowded, but familiar all the same, and the both of them happily shared their afternoon tea sidled together in a tiny booth. 

“Are you okay?” Bebe asked after a long bout of silence. 

Louis nods.

“You’ve not said a word since this morning.”   
  


“I’m fine,” Louis said, struggling to look somewhat honest. “Just a lot to think over.”  
  
“I think you should take the job.”  
  
Louis slowly puts his cup down. “Why?”  
  
“Lou,” She said, and there’s a degree of pity to her tone. It stings. “You can’t go back to London.”  
  
He’s already swallowed the food, but the lump in his throat resurfaces. 

“I know that,” He told her. “I don’t want to.”   


“Lou,” She said again, quieter this time. “It’s alright to not be alright.”

“B,” He tried. “Stop.”  
  
“...I was talking to Dylan.”  
  
Louis’ head snaps up, eyes wide, anger growing.

“You’ve managed to hit two hard limits in the span of six sentences. Wanna go for three?”  
  
“Louis, he _misses_ you.” 

And fuck, she’s going to make him cry in Jay’s favorite cafe, so Louis stands abruptly, his chair scraping underneath him.

“Imma go, the loo,” He chokes out, motioning behind him and turning away so she won’t see his eyes welling with tears. “Be right back.”

In the loo, he splashes cold water in his eyes, willing the swelling under them to disappear. He looked a mess, unshaven and ragged, hair sticking out in all directions, purple blooming under bloodshot eyes. 

He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, contemplating sending a message to Paul. He could chalk it up to the painful memories, his desire to stay as far away from this town as he could. He could apologize, make it seem really authentic and evoke some sympathy, and maybe the man would let him out of his implied commitment. 

Fuck’s sake. No wonder Bebe was worried. 

…

Later that night, long after dinner, Louis goes to a pub. He knows better. Truly, he does, but he also knows the roads of this town too well. He knows the places that’ll let him in well after midnight, and he’s learned the art of drinking in this town. It’s quick and shameless, nothing like the nightlife of London. 

God, he missed London.

He misses his friends. He misses the salon. He misses cutting hair and gossip and  _ culture _ , the days when Bebe and him would mix dye in the back of the salon, sharing a cigarette. 

Instead, he’s stuck here. So he goes into the pub, orders two drinks for himself, and sits in the corner, talking to nobody and alone with his thoughts. 

He gets drunk. He gets fucking  _ plastered _ and staggers home, or roughly in the direction of home, laughing at strangers like a madman, his vision blurring, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. 

His hands find his phone, fumbling through coat pockets and pressing on icons. He rings Bebe first, laughing at her voicemail message. 

“You still sound like a Londoner,” He slurred, stumbling over to a wall to support himself. “An’ I’ve got some things to say…”

He pauses for a minute, struggling to collect his thoughts. They’re all jumbling together, running into each other and colliding against his temples. _Thrum. Thrum. Thrum._ His heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his fingertips.   
  
“...you coming back home with me s’ awesome. It’s fuckin’ _awesome_,” He repeated, giggling to himself. “An’ it’s like you’re my bitch, know that? Thanks for being my bitch. I love you, B.”

  
He hangs up. Paul next. It’s two am, and Louis can vaguely remember the man saying something about a late bedtime. He doesn’t pick up. Louis leaves a message. 

…

When Louis wakes up next, he’s sopping wet. There is water soaking his clothes, face, bedsheets, and it takes him a moment to expel the water from his lungs. He rolls to his side, coughing it up onto the floor. There he spots a familiar pair of shoes.

“Bebe,” He croaked, and is almost afraid to look up. “I made-”   
  
Wrong answer. He gets another dowsing for his troubles. This time, he manages to wipe his eyes clean and make out the girl. Bebe stands over him, her resolve unwavering, eyes hardening.

“If you’re about to say something utterly stupid,” She warned. “ _ Don’t _ .”   
  
Louis closes his mouth. He pulls himself into a sitting position, swinging soaking legs over the side of the bed, water dripping down onto the hardwood. 

“Now, let me get one thing straight. I am _not_ your bitch. I came to this godforsaken town to help you sort through this mess,” She spit out, eyes growing dangerously dark. “If you’re gonna get _blackout drunk_ and say things you’ll regret in the morning, well, count me out. Understand?”  
  
“Sorry,” He rasped, struggling to clear more water from his throat. “Fuck, B. I’m so sorry.” 

Bebe flattens her lips into a grimace, but she sets the pitcher down on the nightstand table.

“Take a shower and go to work. And call Liam,” She adds. “He’s driving me crazy. He’s been texting you all morning.”   
  
“I’ll make it up to you,” Louis promised, scrambling to his feet. “Tonight?”

Bebe laughs.   
  
“I need more than eight hours to forgive you,” She calls over her shoulder. “Wanker.” 

He deserved that, he knows, but there’s a twinge of irritation. She’d ruined his good underwear. 

…

“I really am ashamed of last night,” Louis finished, hanging his head for dramatic affect. “It’s been… difficult. My Mum, an’, an’ everything else,” He looks up at Paul, and the man is actually a bit teary-eyed himself. “I’m sorry,” Louis swallows hard. “I’m sorry for how I acted, I know it’s no excuse, but I really need the job.” 

Paul rises to his feet, and for a terrifying moment, Louis thinks he might hit him. 

Instead, he gets a bear hug. 

“Not to worry, lad,” Paul swings him around a little and laughs. Louis thinks his ribs may be cracking. Paul gave dangerous hugs. “We all fuck around. We all make mistakes.”   
  
He pulls back for a second, studying Louis.

“You sure about this? S’ no trouble if you’re dealing with other things. I won’t be mad or nothing,”

It goes straight to Louis’ heart. After everything he’s done, Paul is actually considering letting him off.   
  
“Yes, I’m sure. I need to start today, em, if that’s alright?” 

Paul shrugs. 

“Right, well, you’ll have help. Next shift starts at - what’s it now, half-past?”

Paul turns and rummages through his desk drawer, papers of all colors and sizes falling out. 

“Right,” He muttered to himself. “No, he starts at quarter past. Oh,” He looked up at Louis. “Forgot to mention, you’ll have help. He’s a good lad. You’ll like ‘im.”

Louis doesn’t have time to ask who ‘he’ is, because Paul is already halfway across the store the next time he looks up.

“I’m off to make a delivery down by the school,” Another wide grin spreads across his face. “Don’t burn the shop down, yeah?”   
  
_ Slam _ . The doorbell jingles as he walks out, leaving Louis completely alone in this massive store. 

“Fuck,” Louis muttered, and he scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Probably got a lesson in here somewhere for me, Mum, right?” 

He waits for a moment, maybe for a sign, but he’s not sure. He started talking to himself (to her) a long time ago. Lottie told him once that she heard Jay’s voice in her bedroom, even rushed up the stairs to find her. She wasn’t there. 

_ And she still isn’t now _ . Louis thought bitterly.  _ And now we’re all stuck here, in this town, in this bloody library, trying to pick up the pieces and go on without her. _

Louis picks up the spray bottle and a rag and sets his mind to cleaning the windows. He knows how to do this; focus on something, anything,  _ everything _ but her. 


	2. Chapter 2

Stupid, fuckin’ store. 

There were no customers. Not in the past two hours, and probably not for the rest of his shift. Any time a person passed on the streets, even if they were headed in the wrong direction, Louis attempted to smile, to give a semblance of friendly professionalism from his spot by the window.  _ Come inside. _ He begged silently.  _ Please _ . 

_ Stock books. Take deliveries from the back door. Be polite. Lock the door before you leave.  _

Louis’ new mantra and Paul’s instructions are circuiting his brain, but all he wanted was to  _ talk _ to someone. There was no use in practicing for customers if there were no customers. Louis realizes now why Paul was so eager to give up the new shift, and why he got the damn thing so quickly in the first place. 

Not to mention the fact that his ‘work help’ was nowhere to be seen. The clock on the wall was proudly showing half-past two, and Louis was still alone. 

He was going to lose his mind in here, bored and alone all day, struggling to stay awake, cleaning the windows…

_ Bang _ . 

The door slams open, yanking Louis out of his haze and nearly shattering as it hits the back of the wall, echoing throughout the store. 

Louis’ heart rate goes sky-high as a blur of grey rockets through the doorway, knocking over a few shelves in the process and sending books sliding across hardwood. One hits him right at the ankle. Instinctively, Louis leaps away from the noise, drawing back from the doorway as his adrenaline kicks in. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” A voice yells from outside. “Cassidy,  _ no _ !” 

A young man runs into the store then, catching the door just before it slams shut again and dodging the falling shelves. He tackles what Louis realizes is a dog, now, to the floor. In a swift moment the man has it pinned underneath him, the animal howling in defeat. 

“Can’t do tha’,” The man scolds. “Gonna bloody  _ kill _ someone one of these days, you hear me?” 

Louis is silent in his corner as he stares at the pair, momentarily speechless. He’s not quite sure what’s just happened. A look towards the streets tells him all the same, a few pedestrians watching the scene unfold from the pavement, their mouths agape. 

What was he supposed to do? There wasn’t protocol for this. Dogs weren’t allowed in the store, Paul had mentioned that, though Louis isn’t sure the animal in front of him qualifies as a  _ dog _ . The thing was nearly half his size.

The man, which is looking a lot more boyish now that Louis can see him straight-on, has started to kiss the dog’s head now, murmuring his apologies. Yes, Louis has to intervene now. 

He clears his throat, taking a hesitant step towards the boy. 

“You alright there, lad?” 

The boy jerked upright, startled by Louis’ voice. Sheepishly, he raises his hand in greeting. He looked about as old as Louis, give or take a few years.

“Thought I was alone,” He confessed. “‘Lo there,” 

“Ta,” Louis responds, and nods to the door. “Quite the entrance you just made.” 

The boy laughs, but a glance towards the cracked plaster where the door hit has him wincing. 

He sticks a hand out towards Louis. 

“Sorry ‘bout that. I’m Harry.”

“Louis,” Louis says, and shakes Harry’s hand, still bewildered.

Harry nods to the animal still thrashing in his arms. “This is Cassidy.”

Cassidy, a mess of grey curls and slobber, is quite easily the most massive dog Louis has ever seen in his life. The dog growls in greeting. She struggles hard against Harry’s grip and lets out a loud bark that echoes throughout the store. Louis flinches.

“I didn’t mean to make a mess,” Harry says. “Cass just gets excited, ‘cos she knows I’ve got biscuits in there,” He nods to the supply closet behind Paul’s desk. “Thought I’d get away with it on a Sunday. We don’t usually have business around this time. I was gonna work the shift with her behind the counter…” He trails off.    
  


“Oh,” Louis says, and he’s doing his best to conceal the relief flooding through him. 

_ Today was slow. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow you’ll have a chance.  _

“But, um, you’re here as a witness, so,” Harry flashes Louis a crooked grin. “Don’t tell Paul, yeah? I really will lose my job this time.”

So this was his ‘help’ during the shift. Wonderful.

… 

Harry, it turns out, was actually quite resourceful with a broom and pan. After helping Louis heave the shelves back into place and commenting on the strength of Cassidy,  _ “An absolute monster, that one,”, _ the two of them sweep the floors clean of any dust and debris. Louis made a mental note to wipe down the rest of the shelves tomorrow, before anything like this happened again. 

Harry’s skill at cleaning was so good, well, it almost made Louis look past his strange outfit. The boy was lanky, Louis realized that the moment he’d run in the store. Standing over a foot taller than Louis, Harry wore ripped skinny jeans and a faded, button-down shirt. It had palm trees on it. On top of that, Harry had long, dark, curly brown hair. It was nearly down to his shoulders, falling into his eyes as they cleaned. He wasn’t from Donny, that much was clear. 

Despite all this, Harry was the one to grill Louis on his whereabouts, pointing out immediately that he’d never seen him near the shop. Louis reluctantly mentioned his job in the city. 

“London?” Harry raised an eyebrow, looking Louis up and down, which he found hilarious. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis shrugged. “I was a hairstylist.”  
  
He pushed past Harry’s further perplexed expression. 

“Dunno, I won’t be going back anytime soon. Paul needs the help here an’ my family does too.”   
  
At the mention of the store owner Harry’s eyes widen with interest. He stops sweeping for a moment. 

“Wait, hang on, you’re  _ Louis _ ? The Louis that Paul won’t ever shut up about?”   
  


“I… maybe?”  
  
“I’ve got you to thank for missing the train every Friday since the start of the month,” Harry says. “Once Paul gets on about something, he won’t stop. He’s told me nearly everything about you an’ all your Uni buddies.”

Louis laughs, recalling several times that Paul had kept him late at the check-out counter, talking about an author or an article or a dissertation as he handed Louis his change. The list went on.

“He likes to talk,” Louis shakes his head, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. There  _ were _ good memories in this town, despite what he thought now. “I still love him, an’ all, but he can go on for hours,” He laughs. “Sorry you missed your train.” 

Harry waved him off, pushing curls out of his eyes. 

“I’d rather be here than at home.”   
  
Louis can relate to that feeling. He was already dreading the impending conversation with Bebe, and god, Liam too. 

A voice in the back of his head was nagging him, _ Dylan too. Dylan too. _

No. Louis had learned his lesson. 

…

His shift let off at seven, and Louis would be lying if he wasn’t relieved when the alarm on his phone finally rang. Paul still wasn’t back, but he bid goodnight to Harry (who was working until nine) and set off for home.

Seven missed calls from Liam. Good god.  _ Seven _ . 

He dials as he rounds the avenue, struggling to keep a pace that would have him home before it got dark. 

_ “Hi, s’ Liam. Leave a message. I’ll get back to yeh…” _

“For Christ’s sake, Li. You call all day and then give up when I do? I’m fine,” He promises. “Got the job an’ everything. Met my partner today. He’s a nice lad, it’s all okay. Bebe’s going back Tuesday, but I’m fine, honestly. Don’t have to come visit me or nothing-” He pauses. “I mean, if you want to, s’ alright. I don’t mind.”   
  
No, Louis wouldn’t mind some company. His flat was lonely enough as is, with Bebe refusing conversation, no doubt still fuming from this morning. 

“Point is, I’m alive, and things are coming together. I’ll tell the girls you called. Daisy’s been whining summat awful about you not sending her that book back. Said it was her favorite, too. Speaking of which,” Louis looks over his shoulder at the bookstore in the distance, the lights on but fading as night fell. “I work in a bookstore now, which is turning out to be the most  _ boring _ job on this earth.”    
  
He sighs, looks at his watch, swallows hard.

“Right, hanging up now. By, Li.”

Louis contemplates going into the pub. He walks past it instead, heading for home. 


	3. Chapter 3

Louis makes it home just as the sun is setting. The flat is quiet, eerily so, and he wonders if Bebe went out to eat without him. Louis would deserve it. Although, he was looking forward to some company, despite the way he had left things with his friend. 

He makes a point to slam the door closed, loud enough that it echoes through the flat.

“M’ home!” He calls, stepping cautiously into the flat. 

The entryway was empty, her shoes and coat gone.  _ Brilliant.  _

“Bebe?” Louis moves slowly through the hallway. “B? You in here?”

To his surprise and relief, Bebe is waiting for him at the kitchen table. She’s still looking rather put off. Louis sighs, and sets his bag down on the counter, bracing himself.

He was never drinking like that again, that he knew. 

“You alright?”

“I’m not mad, Lou,” She says quietly. “Just come sit down.”

Even still, his stomach fills with dread as he moves towards the table, settling awkwardly across from her. 

“You know I am sorry, though, right? ‘Cos I didn’t mean to say any of those things, an’ m’ a tosser when I get drunk, an’ I shouldn’t have put you in that position-” 

“Louis,” Bebe interrupts. “Lou, I have to go back. Tonight.”

He blinks at her. Misses a beat. Processes the words. 

“What?”

“London,” She says, and he’s already shaking his head at her.  _ No _ . “Lou, I’m so sorry, the job wants me back earlier. I - I’m leaving. Now.”

Louis’ heart is beating so fast it might fall right out of his chest. He knew it was coming, knew he’d have to prepare for the loneliness that would follow, but Bebe saying it makes the loneliness all the more tangible. He was going to be  _ alone _ . Alone in this town with these open scars, never healing. 

“I’m sorry,” Bebe says again, softer than before. She looks so guilty. “I want to stay. I feel awful.” 

“I… well,” Louis swallows harshly, his throat closing in on him. “Well, bloody hell, c’mere and give me a hug. I’ll need a cuddle before you go.”

He’s fighting off tears as Bebe wraps him in a hug, still murmuring her apologies. She was a good girl, this one. Fuckin’ hell, he was going to miss her. 

“I’m not mad,” Her voice is muffled in his jumper. “It’s not about anything that happened, I swear. I’m not mad, Lou. I forgave you this morning.”

He nods at her.

“Do you need a ride? To the station?”

She doesn't. And after packing what was left of her things and wishing him well, Bebe is gone. Louis is well and truly alone.

He’d be lying if he didn’t go straight for the beer in the fridge. 

… 

The next morning, Louis wakes to a throbbing headache. Stumbling blindly out of bed, he showers quickly, cursing the cold water and his old habits. He’d forgotten to pay the water bill, and gotten drunk. Again. 

Years gone from his hometown had changed him, and although Louis knew the roads and hidden corners, remembered names and faces, there was a foreign feeling to it all. It was like he was looking through someone else’s eyes. He wasn’t the same person. Louis doesn’t remember what he’d been like before London, before the disaster of that winter, before words that cut through him so deep he couldn’t breathe, the phone falling from his hands.

_ She’s gone, Lou.  _

So, yes, Louis had to visit his family today. A promise to Dan was long-overdue, and once Louis had dressed and deliberated the drive, he was on the winding road to his childhood home. 

Maybe he was a shit brother for avoiding the girls (and Dan and Ernie), but their grief and pain was wound so tight. It encompassed the family, and it was all anyone thought about, though no one dared to actually mention it. Mention  _ her _ .

Even walking up the driveway was hard, his lungs tightening in resistance, and Louis isn’t one to admit things like that. 

Louis raises his fist to knock. Dan opens the door. 

Each of them miss a beat, stepfather and son staring wide-eyed at each other, at a loss for words. The question is written all over Dan’s face, so Louis has to answer.

“I’ve been back fo’ a few,” He says quietly. “Mornin’.”

His stepfather blinks at him. Louis continues. 

“I, em, came to get Clifford? An’ to say hi to the kids, if s’ alright? Don’t know if it’s a good time or-” 

“Thank God,” Is all Dan can reply, yanking the boy into a hug so tight Louis can scarcely breathe. “Thought you wouldn’t come.” 

_ Neither did I.  _ Louis wants to say.  _ Neither did I.  _

Through the open doorway, over Dan’s shoulders, Louis can see a pair of torn-up trainers. The laces are knotted clumsily, belonging to feet that peek out the hallway just far enough, raised on tiptoes, ready to bolt. 

“Charlotte,” He calls out sharply. “C’mere an’ give your brother a hug.” 

Lottie appears from around the corner then, arms crossed and eyes filled with a hurt that breaks Louis’ heart. He expected as much.

“Lots,” He calls again, pulling away from Dan and reaching out for her. “Love? I know, s’alright.” 

Lottie, never one to run-around an issue, is quick to tear down the walls Louis’ put up, stabbing a finger through the air at her older brother. Her eyes are glowing with anger. 

“You’re a  _ dick _ .” 

“Proper,” He agrees, barking out a laugh. Relief floods through Louis as his sister accepts his hug, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. “M’ a complete wanker, know tha’? Dan shouldn’t have even let me in,” He squeezes her hard. “Don’ know why he did.”

“What took you so long?” She demands. “What were you doing? Why weren’t you  _ here _ ?”

Louis wishes he could answer that question, and Lottie realizes his absence of one is the answer in itself, so she presses on. 

“Phoebe won’t stop,” Louis can feel her heart beating furiously against his chest. “She won’t stop crying. She can’t.”

And Louis’ stomach is twisting, because for  _ God’s sak _ e, he was supposed to be here to hold it all together. He was the eldest. He held this responsibility, and he’d pushed it all to Dan, bless him. Louis’ never felt such guilt in his whole life. 

“We’ll be okay,” He tells her, and pulls back, studying his sister. She’s not crying, but there’s a glossiness to her eyes that he can’t ignore. All of them were struggling to be strong right now. “Is she upstairs? Where are the twins?”

His sister nods. “Daisy is with her. The twins are sleeping.”

Louis turns to Dan, as if asking for permission. The man nods furiously. 

So Lottie and him walk the stairs together, shoulder to shoulder, a million words unsaid. Louis doesn’t miss the way Lottie stiffens as they pass Jay’s room, the door closed. Louis will bet good money it hadn’t been opened, not since January. 

When they do reach the bedroom, Louis walks in to find Phoebe sobbing in Daisy’s arms, the two of them tangled together on the carpet. The girl looked a mess, her makeup running and shoulders shaking, and Louis swallows harshly against the noises she’s making. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t, he  _ couldn’t _ imagine what they’ve been going through. 

A hand on his back tells him Lottie knows what he’s thinking, and she pushes Louis gently towards the pair. 

“Daisy,” He says hoarsely. “Can I hold her? Please?”

Daisy fixates him with a glare as he crouches to the ground, but she doesn’t fight as he pulls Phoebe easily into his lap, gathering her in his arms.

“Hi, Phee,” He whispers. “Tell me what’s wrong, love.”

Louis doesn’t know why he’s asked that. He knows what’s wrong. 

“She’s gone,” Phoebe’s choking on tears, her words running together as Louis pulls her in. “She’s  _ gone _ , and I didn’t get to say goodbye, an’ I- I-”

“I know you didn’t,” Louis holds her closer. “Neither did I,” He says quietly. “An’ it’s not fair. None of it is.”   
  


Daisy is tearing up in front of them, her heart breaking at the sight of her twin sister in so much pain. Lottie pulls her into a hug, murmuring quietly. 

  
“But she wouldn’t want you like this. Mum wouldn’t want you hurting so much, Phoebe. Easy,” Louis soothes her. “Gotta breathe for me, love. Listen now, alright? She’s gone, but you’re still here, aren’t you?”  
  
Phoebe nods, blinking furiously against more tears.   
  
“We’re all still here,” He says gently. “So we’ve got to be strong for each other, don’t we? S’ what Mum would’ve wanted, an’ s’ what your dad wants too.” 

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Phoebe swallows hard, fighting off another sob.   
  
“I-I know,” She stammers. Then she looks up at her brother, suddenly terrified. “Lou?”  
  
“Yes, love.”  
  
“You’re not going to leave again, r-right?”  
  
Daisy lets out a quiet sob from behind them. This was all his fuckin’ fault. Louis tries not to think about what Mum would say now, so instead he fights off tears, and takes his sister back into his arms.

“Listen t’ me,” He orders. “I’m not going  _ anywhere _ . I promise.” 

… 


	4. Chapter 4

Once Phoebe calms down and Daisy has her distracted again, Lottie takes off. She slips out the door so quietly that no one but Louis notices. It hurts. His closest sibling couldn’t stand to stay in the room with him for more than five minutes. 

Nursing his ego, Louis follows her out into the hall. 

“Lottie,” He struggles to keep his voice down. His sisters didn’t need to hear this. “Charlotte,” He calls. “Stop acting like a five-year-old. Don’t ignore me.”   
  


Lottie whirls around, and apparently Louis is making everyone cry today, because her eyeliner is running. With the tears come black streaks that stain her blouse and cheeks. She looks terrifying and terrified all at once, and her eyes are wild with an anger that sends Louis’ stomach churning. She looks like Mum. 

“You’ve got some nerve calling me childish, Lou.” 

“I’m in the wrong here, Lottie. I’ll take the blame.”

  
“Thanks for being so accommodating,” She sneers. “An’ yeah, you’re spot-on about that. Showing up here like you’re some kind of fucking _godsend-_”  
  
In an effort to save them some explanation to the twins, Louis tugs her into the closest room. The color drains from his face when he realizes which one. 

They stand in silence for a long time. Louis takes in the quilt, the portraits on the wall, her jewelry still hanging from the mirror. He hasn’t been in here in months, but the smell hits him hard. It’s inescapable, sucking you in and shoving images down your throat. Lavender. Vanilla. Cardamom. He’d forgotten what her perfume smelled like. Oh, god,  _ Mum _ . 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Lottie says thickly, and Louis thinks she’s struggling not to breathe in too. “Not in here. Let’s go downstairs.” 

Lottie turns to go.   


“I made a mistake,” He says quickly, before she runs off. “I made a mistake, Lottie.”   
  


His sister stops for a moment, contemplating whether he was worth listening to. She’s heard it all before, Louis knows this. 

“I was scared out of my mind, an’ I couldn’t face the problem, so I ran. I’m never gonna be able to fix that, but I’m here now. An’ I’m sorry,” Louis reaches out tentatively. “I’m so sorry, Lots. I’m staying.”   
  


Lottie avoids his hug, settling for a stiff nod instead. 

“I know.”  
  
“Lot-”  
  
“But if you _ever_ walk away again,” She leans in impossibly close. Her melting, eyeliner eyes are staring straight at him. “We won’t be here when you come crawling back,” She says. “Do you understand? I’m not putting them through it.”  
  


“I won’t walk away. I’ll give my word on tha’.”   
  
“Your word is shit,” Lottie fires back. “There wasn’t any talk of ‘promises’ when I had to explain why you were gone. To the twins! Who are _thirteen_, if you haven’t forgotten,” She sets her jaw, holding back crueler words, but her lip is trembling. “You were off partying in London while we were at the funeral, Louis, don’t ever forget that.” 

“Dan let me in for a reason, Lottie,” Louis says quietly. “He knew I was staying. I am staying.” 

“Dan let you in,” Lottie nods. “But next time, I won’t.” 

...

After that, Louis staggers out, mumbling something about fresh air and a cigarette. He makes it halfway down the driveway before Dan catches him. His stepfather is out of breath, gasping a bit. He’s tugging Clifford along on a leash, grinning wide, completely unaware of what’s just happened. 

“You forgot the dog,” Dan laughed, but he looks back at the house with a scowl. “Whose idea was it t’ make such a bloody long path? Christ.”    
  


“Mum wanted a nice yard.”  
  
“An’ the house needed to be up on the hill if that was gonna happen?”

“Guess so.”

Dan nods at Clifford. 

“You’ve got things for him at your place, right? Enough food an’ everything?”  
  
“‘Course.”

  
Dan nods again, and an awkward silence washes over them. Clifford tugs on his leash, letting out a low whine. Louis shushes him. 

“I know I didn’t stay long,” Louis apologized. “but I’ll be late for work if I don’t go now. Paul is a right nag about being on time, an’-”

  
“We want you over,” Dan says, and cuts him off. “Each week, for dinner.”  
  
Louis looks up, a bit startled. Out of everything, he certainly wasn’t expecting an invitation. Maybe a warning, a _pull something like that again and you won’t be let in next time. _This was Dan, after all, and Lottie was incredibly persuasive when she wanted to be. Louis had learned that the hard way years ago.

  
“Daisy won’t tell you, but she misses you summat awful…” Dan trailed off, suddenly sheepish. “An’, uh, I need you around too. There aren’t enough lads in the house.”

Louis is overwhelmed with the urge to pull his stepfather into a hug, but the man was never a touchy-feely sort of bloke. The way Dan pulls back after he says it tells Louis as much. What happened at the doorway wasn’t going to again. 

“Of course I’ll come ‘round,” He says quietly. “When? What time?”  
  
“Saturday’s? Eight?”  
  
“I get off at seven,” Louis nods. “I’ll be there,” He tugs on Clifford’s leash. “C’mon then.”  
  
“Oi!” Dan called after him. “Dylan’s welcome, too. S’ his name, innit? We’d love to see him again.”  
  


Louis doesn’t turn around. His face would give him away, so he focuses on moving forward. One foot after another. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

“Yeah, I’ll ask him. Bye, Dan.”

“Ta.”

Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to explain that, no, Dylan couldn’t come over. No, Dylan isn’t around anymore. No, Dylan doesn’t love me anymore, Dan. Dylan loves the boy in the bakery near Regents Park. He’s never loved me. 

_ It was a mistake, Lou. _

_ I swear I didn’t mean it. _

_ I still love you. _

And if Louis was stupid enough to believe that, he’d be going back to London next month.

…    
  
Thanks to a lot of running on his part, Louis makes it to work just before noon. He skids around the corner with his backpack of books swinging in dangerous fashion, almost taking out a lamppost in the process. 

Paul had asked for the new shipment to be signed for in person, so Louis took it upon himself to be the employee of the week. It took him twenty extra minutes to stop by the co-op, and he was going to have a sore back tomorrow, but Louis didn’t really care. These days, distractions were welcomed with open arms. Lottie’s words were still on repeat in his head. 

It was Monday. There were actually customers today, to Louis’ delight, and he busied himself with helping people find book selections. When it came to genre, he was fine. Pointing out mystery from romance was easy for anyone. Specifics gave Louis more trouble.

“What would you prefer?” Asked one woman. She had tightly coiled red hair and reminded Louis eerily of his Nan. “Brontë over Austen? There’s such an ongoing debate!”   
  
And Louis knows this is the more posh part of town, but he can’t quite help but roll his eyes. In what world would Liam or him read these books? Or his sisters? They’d all been in the store years ago, and always went straight for comics and crime fiction. Or Uni books, which were on sale in the corner. In Louis’ opinion, books with pictures were the only thing palatable amidst the ‘classics’. 

Paul is watching from the counter, though. It’s showtime. Louis only recognizes one name, so he goes for it.

“Brontë, of course. Classic.” 

“I’d say it depends on your writing style preference,” Mused another voice. 

  
Louis turns. Harry. He’s wearing a nametag and has his hair tied up with a plaid scarf, like some kind of hipster-gardener. 

God, he was strange. 

“How so?” The woman frowned.

“Brontë was better known for her narrative style,” Harry explains. “Austen used more controversial themes. She was known for her irony, but the critics weren’t always fond.” He grinned. “I love Austen, personally. She’s feisty.”

_ Feisty?  _ What was he selling, porn? 

The woman nods, and places the other book back on the shelf.

“Austen it is. Thank you,” She squints. “Harry.”  
  
“Anytime,” Harry says kindly. “Happy to help.”

After that, Louis decides he’d be more help behind the counter. There were less rules there, and the steady stream of customers was enough to keep him from dozing off every five seconds. 

_ That’ll be a tenner.  _

_ Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day. _

_ Don’ suppose you’ve got change? M’ all out here.  _

_ See you soon! _

It was a bit boring, but working in a bookstore was a bit boring. Paul seemed happy enough with how Louis was doing, anyhow, flashing a thumbs up every so often. Louis needed to thank him for giving him the job again. 

It’s Harry, though, that seemed to be the champion among them. He was always moving, whether stacking books or cleaning windows or humoring a group of schoolgirls. Three of them had walked into the store, giggling quietly. They clearly found him as attractive as everyone else. It was infuriating how polite Harry was about it, nodding and actually listening to what they were saying, brow furrowed in concentration. Louis had no patience for things like that, not that he’d ever had to deal with schoolgirl’s attention. 

And then, just as he’s about to lose his focus and start dwelling again - 

“Oi.”

That’s Harry, rapping his knuckles on the counter. 

“S’ lunchtime,” He nods to the clock. “You comin’ with me?” 

Louis has to rub the sleep from his eyes. How long had he been sitting there with his eyes drooping? He needed to get more sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping right since Bebe left.

“How long do we have? Where do you want to go?”  
  
“Half hour,” He says. “Paul will cover for us. An’ you’re the one that’s from around here,” Harry frowned. “I dunno. Tell me.”

Louis sighed, rising to his feet. 

“There’s a sandwich shop around the corner,” He grabbed his jacket. “C’mon.” 

So they set off on the streets. 

Louis tries not to dwell on the fact that Harry didn’t bat an eyelash at those schoolgirls. He tries not to dwell on the fact that Harry seems rather enthralled with the sandwich shop owner, a young blonde boy with dark eyes. 

It was the same kind of boy that he caught Dylan with. But that seemed so long ago now.


	5. Chapter 5

It was half til noon and Louis wasn’t going to work today.

Stupid.

If he’d just left the phone on the table, nothing would’ve happened.

He wouldn’t have seen the voicemail from Liam, wouldn't have picked up, wouldn’t have contemplated ringing Bebe after he was done. He certainly wouldn’t have seen Dylan flashing on the screen.

Fuck.

The casual nature of the call scares Louis more than anything. It had been a month. It had been four weeks and three days, not that he’s counting, and Dylan was calling him.

Louis was always toeing the line between two hypothetical scenarios. The first, in which Dylan apologized. The thought of this is terrifying, because Louis would have no trouble in packing his things and heading for London. The first was too dangerous, where everything was wonderful and monogamous again.

Then there was the second scenario, in which Louis picked up and promptly told Dylan to burn in hell.

The second was looking a hell of a lot more appealing today. No pun intended.

You’re always so melodramatic, Louis. Pull it together. Don’t spin out of control. Nothing’s wrong.

Dylan was always so wonderful at manipulating a person.

There are a lot of things Louis has done in his life that he regrets, but picking up that phone has to be at the top of the list.

“Dylan.”

“I… fuck, did you pick up?” He’s breathless, already flustered. “You never pick up. Louis, love, I need you to listen to me.”

He was always rushing. Always frantic. Talking a million miles an hour, desperate for knowledge, for an audience. You won’t believe what I learned today, Lou. Just wait until you hear this. I read the most amazing article this afternoon. It used to be endearing. Now, Louis just found it exhausting. He struggled to get a word in then, and he was still struggling now.

“Lou,” Dylan repeated, and Louis wishes he’d stop calling him that. His American accent didn’t do him any favors.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“I had to hear from Liam that you’d left town. Liam, Lou. Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”

Maybe.

“No.”

Dylan pauses, as if contemplating the thought.

“Well, will you listen to me? I need five minutes, and then you can hang up, alright?”

There’s a murmuring on the other line. Another person in the room. Louis’ vision swims. Dylan was asking for forgiveness and that bastard was there with him, wasn’t he?

“I know an apology doesn't cover the half of it, but-”

“Dylan,” Louis says hotly, and he can’t hide the tears now. They’re gluing his words together, sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Dylan, I’m done. I’m done with this. I was done a long time ago.”

“No, love,” Dylan was quiet now, regretful. “Don’t say that, baby.”

Louis can picture him pacing the room, thumbnail between his teeth. He always chewed his nails when he got nervous. Or when he was hashing out a deal. That’s what Louis was, a deal.

A prize.

Where was this a month ago? Louis wants to scream. Where was this when I caught you fucking him in our living room?

“Louis, listen,” Dylan’s still pleading. “I didn’t mean it. You know that. Running off doesn’t fix anything. If you come back - come back home, I mean, we can work it all out.” 

“No.” Louis says again. He laughs darkly. “You two deserve each other, y’ know tha’? I hope he makes you happy.”

“Louis-”

“And if you call this number again, I swear to fuckin’ god I will press charges. I know how old he is, Dylan,” Louis snarls. “I doubt you want ‘sex offender’ written all over your resume, do you?”

Louis hangs up, and then for good measure, throws the phone across the room.

Curse him. Curse him and his blue eyes and blonde hair and ridiculous charm. Curse him for being such a good liar.

Louis never learned not to play with fire.

…

Wednesday

Louis got to the store early the next morning, still feeling guilty about calling in ‘sick’. He pushed the door open just as Paul was setting up the register.

“He’s alive!” The store-owner cheered. “Glad you’re feeling up to it, Tommo.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Louis says wearily, and catches the name tag Paul throws his way. “Do you need restocking in the back?”

“Please.”

Off Louis went.

…

It took him a good half hour, but all the boxes in the supply room had been unpacked. Now the books needed to be sorted by type (Novels, novellas, magazines, scripts,) and genres. God help him.

There was a box labeled ‘classics’ that Paul had warned him not to touch. Louis had placed it safely in the corner of the room, near the shelf of comics collecting dust. Louis needed to talk to Paul about that, Christ. If anything was going to bring them customers, it would be the comics. Louis would hang flyers throughout town if he had to.

“B-bloody jesus tha’s cold. Fuck!”

The back door slammed shut to his left, echoing throughout the store. That’d be Harry.

Louis rounds the corner to find the boy dripping wet. Harry’s jumper is soaked through, and he falls to his knees to search furiously through a ripped-up satchel.

Louis leans against the wall, crosses his arms, and looks on, amused.

“Do you always do this?”

Harry doesn’t look up, tossing things onto the floor and digging still. His hair is dripping as well, water running down his neck and onto the carpet.

“Do what?”

“Make a mess. I don’t know if we even have a mop. S’ that rug expensive?”

“S’ not my fault it rains all the time.”  
  
“You live in England,” Louis deadpanned. “Buy a pair of wellies.”

Harry stands with some difficulty, and shaking like a dog, sends water droplets flying everywhere. Louis winces when the cold water hits him.

“No one wears fuckin’ wellies, Louis.”

Louis purses his lips.

“You’re late.”

“I was shooting a wedding,” Harry explains. “S’ why I’m late. Paul’s not here, is he?”

“You were shooting a wedding?”

“Yeah, I was, oh…” He points to his bag. “Shooting film. Not,” Harry shakes his head. “Christ, not shooting up a wedding. What do you take me for, Lou?”

Louis waves him off, the misinterpretation bringing a blush to his cheeks now. He didn’t peg Harry as a photographer, but then again, the boy was full of surprises. Louis wouldn’t put it past him if he was a surfer in his spare time. Don’t surfers have hair that long?

“Never mind. Do you need clothes? Paul’s got some in the back.”

“I’ve got a spare jumper somewhere,” Harry rummages some more and holds up a green one as proof. “I’m good.”

“Harry,” Louis frowns. “You can’t wear wet socks for a nine-hour shift.”

“M’not working a nine-hour shift.”

“What?”

Louis thinks back to the other day, when Harry stayed behind until nine pm, at least.

“I work nine hours on Sunday’s. The rest of the week is seven hours, same as you.”

Great. 


	6. Chapter 6

Louis is stepping out of the shower Thursday morning when Liam calls. It was still early, dawn just peeking through the window shutters, and Louis is regretting ever getting out of bed. He can barely keep his eyes open, let alone begin to have this conversation. 

Fumbling for his towel with shaking fingers, Louis manages to slide the screen across and press the ‘speaker’ icon. God help him. 

_ “Louis Tomlinson,”  _

“Morning,” Louis sighs, his shoulders deflating. He reaches forward, tracing lazy designs into the fogged-up mirror. 

“I’m hoping - I’m seriously  _ hoping _ , Louis, that you did not threaten Dylan whilst he was extending a fuckin’ olive branch. He doesn’t get mad, y’know,” Liam’s voice has shot up at least an octave in the past eight seconds. “He gets even.” 

The things Louis has to deal with this early in the morning. He feels wildly popular all of a sudden. 

“I wouldn’t call it a threat so much as a strong suggestion.”

“So you blackmailed him,” His friend said tightly. “I’m thrilled.”

“He called me first, Liam. I didn’t provoke him,” Louis defends. “I’ll bet anything he was drunk-”

“No excuse!”

“-and with  _ him _ , and looking for something fun to do. I was tired of the games a month ago, an’ that was long before I found him with a _ high-schooler _ .”

Louis throws his towel to the ground and stalks off for the closet, taking the phone with him. Leave it to his best friend to put him in a mood like this on a Thursday, of all days. Louis wasn’t insensitive. Of course he felt bad that Liam was left to deal with his two mates and their personal problems. Liam was the kind of bloke who understood there needed to be a mediator, someone to stay level-headed when the energy got too high, but christ, Louis wanted to kill the messenger right about now.

“He’s eighteen,” Liam is reminding him, as if that made a difference. “And they’re not together. They never were.”

“Which is exactly why I said - ” The color drains from Louis’ face as he trails off. “Why I said… what?”

“They’re not together anymore,” Liam repeats. “Dylan realized he fucked up the minute you walked out, Lou.”

No, no,  _ no _ .

“He realized he was having, bloody hell, what do they call it? A quarter-life-crisis?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t  _ he _ tell me?”

“Like it’ll matter now,” His friend says darkly. “He made a right mess of things and when he was looking for closure, you decided to go and throw him to the wolves. It’s a two way street, Lou.”

But all Louis can see is the  _ look _ on Dylan’s face as he threw clothes into his knapsack. All he can hear is the pleading, the desperate, hysterical nature of it all. 

_ If you leave we can’t fix it, Louis. Please don’t do this to me. Please don’t - Louis! _

All he can hear is the sound of the door slamming, how fast his heart was pounding. How he hightailed it for Liam’s flat in tears, falling into his friend’s arms and begging him to make it  _ stop _ . The crying, the betrayal, the pain. 

The love.

“Right,” Liam’s voice is jarring, echoing throughout the closet. “I think you two should sit down and talk it out, ‘cos I still don’t know exactly what happened. It doesn’t matter if things sort themselves out or not, but the both of you need some closure. It’s ridiculous, sending love letters back an’ forth like this. I’m not a bloody high schooler.”

Too soon.

“I have to go to work, Liam. I’ll talk to you later,” Louis says thickly, and scrambles to end the call before Liam can protest. “Bye.” 

The silence is worse, though, and Louis’ ears are ringing with Liam’s words as he pulls on a jumper, his fingers numb. 

_ And they’re not together anymore. They never were.  _

So here Louis stood, nursing a bruised ego for what, exactly? A petty mistake? Hard feelings over something that will take him years to heal? What did Liam want him to do? Go on a  _ lunch date _ ? Not a chance. 

Louis’ phone buzzes again, startling him to no end. He was going to toss it in the bin if this kept up. 

_ I need help early at the store. You owe me for JA. Back door is unlocked. - H  _

Fantastic.

… 

It’s sleeting by the time Louis makes it to the bookstore, and he’s kicking himself for not wearing another layer. Or a scarf, at least. He’d forgotten how cold it got in early spring here. There was a thin layer of slush on the streets, and Louis is wearing most of it when he reaches the front steps, shivering.

Harry meets him at the back door. His cheeks are flushed from the indoor heating, hair in messy curls. He looks like he’s woken up fifteen minutes ago, eyes a bit swollen. 

“Thank god.”  
  
“Mornin’,” Louis says glumly, and pushes past him into the store. 

“Thank god,” Harry says again as he leads Louis into the storage room. “Didn’t know wha’ I was gonna do.” 

They come to a stop.

“Holy…” Louis surveyed the mess in front of him. A box had been turned over, books pages scattered in haphazard fashion across the hardwood. There were at least fifty novels on the ground. “Harry, what happened?!”

“They were shipped that way,” Harry toes aside a torn page for good measure. “I picked the box up at the co-op an’ didn’t think to open it,” He looks up, helpless. “I don’t know what to tell Paul.”

“What about the deposit? Can we-”

“No. Vintage.”

“Fuck.”

Harry nods, and pushes his curls out of his eyes again, a nervous habit. The two of them stand there for a long moment, side to side, staring at the mess in front of them. Louis speaks first.

“We could tape them back up?”  
  
“And lie to Paul?” Harry frowns. “Not a chance.”  
  
“Well I don’ know what else to do, Harry,” Louis says crossly. “It looks like it’s been through a fuckin’ weed wacker.” 

“It was ninety quid,” Harry says mournfully. “We can’t throw them out.”

Louis crouches to the ground, examining the tore spine of one the books. Harry watches as he places it back in the box and gets to his feet.

“I don’t know… there’s a chance that they’ll sell more this way, right? They look very well-worn. Isn’t that what vintage means?”

“We’re going to get coffee,” Harry says, a matter-of-factly. “I’m not trying to fix this before coffee.”  
  
“I, _Harry_, we can’t just leave it like this-”  
  
“Come.” Harry demands, and tugs Louis along. “Now.” 

…

Nearly a half hour later, the two of them are standing in line at a crowded coffee shop. Louis recognized it immediately as the competing business of the shop he used to work at. Figures. 

Harry, of course, had no problem fitting it. This was easily the most ‘hipster’ joint in town, if you could call it that. Louis felt like he was in London again. Everyone around him was wearing a beanie. Except Harry, who had his curls tied up again in a scarf. This time, it was dark green. 

Louis feels incredibly out of place in his torn jumper. Coffee here was… seven pounds a cup? What on earth? 

Harry’s nudging him now, a strange look on his face.

“Sorry, what?”  
  
“I said, what’ll you have?”  
  
Louis tilts his head up, examining the menu. There were already too many options. Each word looked foreign to him. What the hell was a _frappuccino? _

“Uh… dunno. What are you getting?”   
  
Another strange look. 

“I usually take black coffee, but s’ a bit of an acquired taste,” Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Some people think it’s too bitter.” 

“I don’t want sweet.” Louis says immediately.

Lattes were Jay’s favorite.

Harry shrugs, and turns to the barista.

“Two americanos, please.”  
  
The barista appears to be incredibly bored, not even looking up when she asks - “Cream or sugar?”  
  
“No thanks.” 

Harry whips out a shiny credit card and pays before Louis can protest, although he’s not sure he can afford a coffee that costs seven pounds. 

Later though, once they’re seated, Louis is regretting taking Harry’s advice at all.

“You don’t like it?”  
  
“It’s, um,” Louis winces at he attempts another sip. “Nope,” He shakes his head violently. “Sorry. S’ disgusting.” 

Harry’s eyes shine with laughter.

“I figured as much.”  
  
“Just… no cream? No _sugar_?” Louis wrinkles his nose at his cup. “It’s like drinking straight coffee grounds.”  
  
“And hot water,” Harry nods. “That’s the idea.” 

Louis slumps back in his chair, crossing his arms and resisting the urge to pout. 

“You do get used to it. An’ it’s nice on cold days. Dunno,” Harry shrugs. “Gets me out of bed in the morning.” 

“I’ll take tea over that anyday,” Louis declares. “You couldn’t change my mind.”  
  
“Probably not. I hate tea.”  
  
Louis’ eyes double in size.

“You  _ what _ ?!” 

Harry bursts out laughing, bringing a hand up to stifle the sound. Louis wished he hadn’t, despite the blasphemy he’d just admitted. Harry had an incredible laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the amount of caffeine in Harry’s system, (he’d downed Louis’ cup too), he was able to find the way back to the bookstore. He tugged a bleary-eyed Louis along, who still wasn’t fully awake. 

They walked quickly through the morning crowds, stumbling on cobblestones. It was a nice day, despite the chill in the air. Even Harry was shivering, and he had a bloody scarf on his head. 

But Louis couldn’t remember the last time he agreed to go for coffee with someone, let alone set foot outside his flat in this town. 

Then Louis went sprawling thanks to someone (accidentally) tripping him, and Harry’s knee-jerk reaction was to yell ‘ _ Oi! _ ’ and haul him off the pavement, spinning around to pin the blame on the guilty party.

When he found no one, he turned to Louis, frowning deeply. 

“Alrigh’?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, though he was rubbing at his elbow. “Ow.”  
  
“S’ a busy part of town,” Harry said by way of apology. “My bad.” His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re a bit small, Lou.” 

_ Lou _ ? 

“Oh, fuck off.”  
  
“We’re in this whole book situation together, mind you. Don’t insult your only accomplice.”   
  


Louis groaned at the reminder, this time tugging Harry along behind him. They were going to be late. 

… 

Paul did not look pleased as Harry and Louis slipped through the back door at five past nine. 

The both of them removed hats, scarves, and jackets slowly, avoiding eye contact. 

“My office.” Paul jabbed a finger in its direction and stalked off, not bothering to look back at them. 

Harry tugged off his jumper, folding it over his arm with a nonchalance Louis envied. His heart was pounding.

“Don’ worry,” Harry said. “It’s my fault. Not yours.” 

Too late.

“ _ Now _ , boys.” Paul snapped. 

Sheepishly, Louis and Harry followed the owner into his office, standing awkwardly in front of Paul’s desk. Louis had only been in here once, and he wrinkled his nose at the sheer amount of  _ books _ there were. Novels were stacked like towers in corners, scripts and leaflets overflowing from every drawer. There were three open books on the desk alone, bookmarks scattered across the oak wood. 

“The shipment,” Paul said simply, whipping off his glasses to look hard at the boys. “Tell me.” 

Harry inhales sharply.

“It was my-”  
  
“My fault,” Louis cuts in. “I picked them up at the co-op and didn’t think to check the books. They were shipped that way, but I don’t think we’ll be able to get the deposit back.”  
  
“They were vintage,” Harry explains, and god, Louis can _feel_ the way he’s glaring at him right now. “I’m happy to go over there and strike a deal with Michael.”  
  
Paul holds a hand up. 

“That’s enough.”

To Louis’s surprise, Harry hangs his head, embarrassed.

“Louis, I don’t want this happening again, do you understand? If someone at the co-op won’t let you have a look at each shipment before you sign off, you tell off right then an’ there.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Louis has never called Paul sir in his life, but this feels like the appropriate time to start.

“And Harry, since you offered, you may go down to the office to “strike a deal”, but you’re using your lunch time to do it.”   
  
“Yes, sir.” 

Paul glares at the both of them, and then nods, satisfied. 

“Get out.” 

… 

It isn’t until later though, when Louis and Harry are reshelving books that they mention the events of the morning. 

“Thank you,” Harry says quietly, clearly hoping Paul won’t hear him. “For covering for me, I mean. You didn’t have to do that.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”

  
  
Harry hands him another book, eyes softening. 

"You're quite nice despite how you present yourself, y'know. Considering I knocked you over with my demon of a dog and made you drink black coffee, an' all."  


Louis fights off a smile, unwilling to give Harry the satisfaction of being correct. 

"It's not a problem. Leave it."

“I’ll close up shop. S’ the least I can do.”

Louis curses silently as Harry walks away, swinging his keys. Now he feels guilty. Goddammit.

"Thank you," He calls tentatively after Harry. "See you tomorrow."

  
  
Louis can practically hear Harry's grin.

"See ya."


	8. Chapter 8

Louis makes it back home before dark, settling onto the couch with a beer and a bowl of curry. God, he was exhausted. 

… 

Later, at half-past eleven or so, there is an insistent banging on the door. 

Louis stretches, his muscles aching from sitting on the couch too long, and stumbles to the door. Probably the landlord demanding the rent a week early, as usual. Louis was not in the mood for a tiff. 

Pulling open the door, he doesn’t see the landlord. He sees Liam, his best friend, who up until three seconds ago, Louis thought was in London.

“Li?”

Louis says it too quickly. He realizes that he’s mad at his friend, and nicknames aren’t allowed. 

“Liam,” Louis corrected, and crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Louis didn’t feel like talking through his feelings tonight. No thanks, I don’t want what you’re selling, you’ve got the wrong door, mister. Go along, now. 

But Liam was his friend. His _ best friend _, and he looks miserable in front of him, dark eyes filled with a hurt that Louis recognizes all too well. 

“I was worried about you,” Liam says. “You spiraled, Lou, and I was worried.”

“You’ve got about four seconds to prove you’re not a complete arsehole.”

Liam blushes. He looks at the ground for a moment, working up his nerve. 

“I shouldn’t have gotten in the middle,” He says finally. “I’ve known you for longer than that tosser, an’ if he doesn’t make you happy, I’ve got no reason to take his side.”

“Damn right.” 

“It was childish.”

Louis looks hard at Liam. “And uncalled for.”

“He put you through hell an’ if you don’t want anything to do with him, neither do I.”

“And?”

“It was wrong,” Liam says simply. “M’ a proper dick for not being there for you-” He pauses. “More, I mean. When your Mum...” Liam trails off, going a bit red.

Louis stiffens.

“...An’ everything else,” Liam finishes. “I should’ve come back home with you to help you settle in,” He nods awkwardly to his duffle bag. “Um, that’s what I’m doing here. If you’ll have me. I’d like to stay to keep you company. Not that you need it,” He rushes out. “Christ, just shut me up already, Lou. I’d like to stay if that’s alright, s’ all I mean. I miss you.” 

There is a long pause. Louis realizes Liam must’ve taken the train into town to get here this quickly. Liam hated taking the train. He was massively claustrophobic and crowded spaces made him nauseas.

Fuck.

Just like that, his friend is blurring before him and Louis has to pull Liam into a hug to hide the tears. Louis lets out a shaky breath and presses his face into Liam’s shoulder, breathing him in. Liam always smelled like roses. It was something in his face cream, and although Louis still found it absolutely hilarious, today it was just comforting. For a quiet moment, everything was alright again. He feels eighteen again, sharing this flat with Liam when they were naive and got drunk every day by noon. 

“You’re still an idiot,” Louis mutters thickly, squeezing tight. 

“But I can stay?” Liam asks hopefully. 

“But you can stay.” 

….

The two of them stay up later than they should drinking, but Liam (only more slightly sober), can’t stop asking questions, and Louis is just drunk enough to answer them.

“You don’t work alone, though,”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “Paul runs the shop. Higgins?” He says when Liam frowns, confused. “Remember him? The big lad with the glasses, an’ y’ know, the hugs?”

“Ah, top lad,” Liam nods. “He helped us with Uni papers.”

“Yeah, he owns the store now. An’ I’ve got a partner who helps during my shift. His name’s Harry.”

“Is he fit?”

Louis has to remember sometimes that Liam is, in fact, gay. Very gay. And single. 

“I…” Louis stutters, taken aback. “Yeah, I mean, he’s not bad-looking. He’s…” He shrugs. “He’s alright.” 

“An’ he’s your age?”

“Thereabouts,” Louis frowned, growing suspicious. “Give or take a few years, yeah.” 

Liam lets out a laugh of disbelief.

“Jesus, Lou. Does he know you’re single?”

“Know I’m single? Li, why on earth would he want to know that? He’s  _ straight _ .” 

How many times was Louis going to have to repeat this? 

Liam smiles a dangerous smile.

“Maybe not.”

“Don’t,” Louis warned. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t.” 

Rolling his eyes, Liam drops the subject, but Louis knows it won't be the last he hears of it.

....

It isn’t until the next morning, though, that Louis realizes Liam is good on his word - he’s staying. 

Was it ridiculous to think otherwise? Embarrassment colors Louis’ cheeks as he watches Liam from the hallway. His friend was setting aside clothes for his shower, sifting through his duffel bag. A memory flashes through him then, of frantic packing, of a month earlier. 

_ Throwing random clothes in, zipping the bag, deep breath in, deep breath out. Walk out the door. Don’t look back. _

_ “Louis!” _

It was that paralyzing feeling, the potential of disaster, that plagued Louis from day to day. The little voice was always there, in the back of his head, filling his stomach with that horrible feeling. 

_ Don’t go. _

Liam looks up through the open door, catches his eye, and smiles at Louis. 

“Going to work?”

Louis nods, blushing harder now that Liam’s caught him staring. 

“Half shift today.”

“D’you know what I was just thinking about? Jackson’s. Is it still down by the square? The little bakery with the lemon teacake?”

“Think so,” Louis says hoarsely. He clears his throat. “Yeah, the one with the big display case?”

“S’ the one.”

“I’ve got a lunch break, if you want to meet up around noon,” Louis offers. “It’s not far from the store.”

“Alright,” Liam smiles. “I’ll be there.”

Louis has to remind himself of that on the walk to work, a new mantra of sorts. A reminder to show up, not only for himself and his friends, his job and his future, but for his family. Tonight was dinner with Dan and the girl’s and Louis will be damned if he lets them down.

_ I’ll be there. _

_ … _

The first thing Louis notices is that Harry is not in the store. Paul is there, filing away paperwork and somehow managing to read a book at the same time. Customers are milling about, occasionally calling him over for help that he can’t really give. Louis catches himself looking towards the door each time the bell rings, hoping to see Harry holding a ridiculous sweater and a cup of coffee. 

It’s never him. Something is wrong. 

“Paul,” He asks eventually during the break. “Is Harry alright? He still works Saturdays, yeah?” 

The owner gives him a perplexed look.

“Harry never works on this day. He’s at home.”

“So, he doesn’t work Saturday’s anymore?”

Harry could’ve at least told him. Saturday’s were busy, and Louis really doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

“No,” Paul is still frowning, studying him carefully. “Just not today. S’ the day that… never mind,” He shakes his head firmly, as if to banish whatever thought had come up. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Right,” Louis backs off, still confused. “Thanks.” 

_ Just not today? _ What does that even mean? 

It occurs to Louis that he has Harry’s number from the shipment debacle. Louis could text him to ask if everything was alright, but he’d see him tomorrow. He needed to stop overreacting. Louis turns back to the customers, surrounding himself with work, attempting to push every worrying thought out of his mind. They still swirled about, nagging him endlessly. 

_ Dinner with the girls and Dan. Harry. Meet Liam for Lunch. Dylan could call again. Bebe needs to hear from me soon. _

_ Mum. _

_ … _

Louis trudged through the rest of his shift, breaking eventually for lunch with Liam and then heading back, not really paying attention to what Paul or the customers were saying. When the clock showed seven he all but sprinted for the door, eager to go home and change before dinner. 

Traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as he anticipated, and the winding road to his family home brought Louis to the house a good fifteen minutes early. Ironic, isn’t it? Feeling uninvited by showing up early to the house he grew up in? Louis knew Jay would find it hilarious, if not a bit depressing. 

It’s definitely the thought of Jay that has him knocking on the door with confidence, straightening his shoulders and taking in a deep breath to give Dan a smile when he opens the door.

“Lou!” His stepfather grinned. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come ‘round back.” 

So Louis follows, a bit hesitant, into the kitchen. To his relief, it’s Lottie that spots her brother first, and his oldest sister pulls him into a bear hug. 

“Look who showed up,” She teased, and then held on a bit longer, adding quietly so no one else could hear. “...Thank you.”  
  
“‘Course, Lots,” He said. “Oi! Daisy, c’mere.”  
  
Daisy runs gleefully to her brother, as does Phoebe, if a bit shy from earlier events. It’s Doris and Ernie, though, that have Louis smiling the widest. They’d gotten so big since the last time he’d been round. Louis tries not to think about how long ago that was. The little toddlers weren’t toddlers anymore, and Phoebe, balancing Doris on her hip, has a look in her eyes that reminds Louis so much of Jay he has to turn away. 

Family meant everything, but it meant nothing when Mum wasn’t around to hold it together. That job was left to him now, and the weight of the responsibility was going to eat him alive. Louis refused to end up like his father. He would make the good choices his dad neglected. _ He _ would show up. 

_ … _

Dinner starts a bit later than eight, (Dan liked the kitchen to himself) but no one is complaining. Louis and his sisters end up laughing so hard in the living room that Dan has to come in and scold them about bothering neighbors. All anxiety or trepidation about the evening has melted away, and Louis has Ernest on his lap now, the little boy staring at him with complete adoration. Louis hasn’t felt this good in months.

“He’s not let go of you all evening,” Phoebe comments quietly, that same look in her eyes.

It’s more bearable now. He hadn’t realized until earlier, but Phoebe always reminded Louis of Jay. With her quiet voice and kind heart, she was the shyest of all the girls. Like their mother, Phoebe saw the good in people before anyone else did. Louis finds it encouraging that she’s even talking to him. 

“He’s a bit of a cuddler, isn’t he?” Louis bounces his half-brother gently, making the boy giggle with delight. “You’ve got some wild curls, mate,” 

Phoebe laughs as Louis makes a point of shaking Ernie’s curls about.

“Gets that from Mum, you know.”  
  
Louis feels everything freeze inside him. He stops bouncing Ernie, the smile falling from his lips.

“Suppose s’ true, yeah.” 

… 

It isn’t until later that the family is actually seated around the dining table, reminding Louis eerily of Sunday dinner, (Saturday dinner now). He half-expected to see Jay sitting across from him, eyebrow raised, wanting to know the truth about what had happened in the schoolyard. 

God, he was always such a bad liar. 

Dan asks for more chicken, causing an assembly line to take place down the table. He turns to Louis, a kind look in his eyes.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to come down, Lou,” He says. “Reminds me a bit of lunch last month, when Louise and Tom came ‘round,” He smiles. “You know? Everyone together again?”  


Louis has no idea what his stepfather is talking about, but he nods and smiles anyway. No reason to be rude. 

Then Dan frowns, catches on, and pauses.

“I’m not sure…” He shakes his head. “Actually, I think that you were in London then. Nevermind that.” 

Across the table, Phoebe, who had been silent throughout the dinner, slams her glass down so hard Louis finds it miraculous it doesn’t shatter. Everyone turns to look at her, cutlery posed above their dishes, frozen. 

“Yes, because he was never _ here _, dad, was he?” 

And so it goes. Grief can change everything, and the friendly conversation Louis had with his sister moments earlier no longer matters. He steels himself for the worst. 

“Phee,” Dan says calmly, a warning. “Watch your tone, please.”

“He shouldn’t be here.” She says. “I don’t understand why he’s even bothered to pretend. What’s the point?”

“Let’s not place the blame on anyone,” Dan is working hard to keep things civil. “It’s been difficult for Louis too.”

“Yeah, except he didn’t get on the fuckin’ train when he knew Mum wasn’t going to last the night,” Phoebe’s voice cracks. “So I don’t think it was too ‘difficult’ for him.” 

“Language!” Comes a sharp voice.

That’s Lottie, then, looking in bewilderment at her younger sister. Louis finds himself breathing a little easier. This wasn’t normal behaviour. He’s not the only one shocked. 

Phoebe ignores Lottie and looks to Louis, her eyes shining with tears.

“You don’t show _ up _ for anything, Lou.” 

Louis supposes now is the wrong time to bring up the fact that he _ was _ there that day she was crying on her bedroom floor. He _ was _ there when he pulled her into his lap and let her sob into his chest. Again, the waves of sadness are hitting him over and over again. The paralyzing feeling is back again, freezing his chest up. He can’t breathe. 

Dylan used to help him when the anxiety got like this, pulling Louis between his legs, settling him against his chest, leaning back against the bed frame. He’d command Louis to breathe in and out with him, mimicking breaths. Louis finds himself doing it alone, hands shaking under the table. 

_ In, out. In, out. _

_ Good, love. I’m right here. We’re okay. _

“I know,” He says hoarsely, and sets down his fork and knife, looking desperately at his sister. “I know, Phee. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there, love. I was scared too.”

He’s trying hard to avoid Dan’s eye contact now, who’s clearly tearing up across from him. Why couldn’t they argue over normal things, like the footie match or bloody pop star gossip? 

“-An’ I know it’s no excuse, but I am here now. An’ I don’t plan to leave anytime soon. I need to be here. With all of you,” He acknowledges. “We’re a family now more than ever, and we need each other.”

There’s a long moment of silence after that. Daisy clears her throat awkwardly, clearly mortified by her twin’s behavior. Only Lottie gives Louis a half-smile, silently encouraging him. 

“Well we don’t want you here,” Phoebe says hotly, and rises from her chair, pushing it noisily away from the table. “You should’ve stayed in London.” 

“Phoebe-” Lottie tries. 

But she’s gone, and Louis has to take a large sip of water to force the sob building in his throat back down. 

This was going to be harder than he thought. 

… 

“Not well, then?”

Liam looks up as Louis stalks into the living room, tossing his coat and keys on the coffee table. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis says shortly, and makes a beeline for the fridge. “Beer?”

There’s a deep sigh from behind him.

“Yeah, alright.” 

Liam was in no place to lecture Louis on his drinking habits. The man went through a case a week. He loved beer, like his father. So the two of them sit on the couch in silence, drinking, each contemplating whether conversation was needed here or not.

Liam takes the risk. 

“Was it Phee?”

Louis nods, still not making eye-contact. 

“She was always a feisty one,” Liam takes a long swig from his bottle. “Remember when you an’ I came back after our first semester and she locked me in the bathroom ‘cause I’d been the one to drive you to Uni?”

Louis grins, for the first time all day. 

“That was hilarious.”

“Can’t say I agree, but it proves my point, yeah? She’s a wildcard. An’ she’ll forgive you,” He adds, looking hesitantly at Louis. “It’ll be alright.”

His sisters words are echoing in Louis’ mind.

_ We don’t want you here. _

_ You don’t show up for anything, Lou. _

She was right, of course. Louis had left his apartment in London that night, eyes streaming, heart racing, no place to go but to Liam. Dylan had taken all bravery, all resilience from him, and he’d need time to regain it. Grief was like no other pain he’d ever known, and he was already nursing a broken heart when his mother died. 

“The first time I went back,” Louis says quietly. “After the funeral, she let me hold her.”

“Phoebe?” Liam sounded surprised. 

“She was crying on the floor,” Louis nodded. It was only a week ago. “She was crying… an’ I pulled her into my lap, Li. Like I did when she was a little girl, and she let me _ hold _ her,” He swallows hard against the tears filling his eyes. “I’d walked in after weeks of leaving them alone, without knowing why I was gone or when I was coming home, an’ she didn’t even question it. She held onto me like everything was okay,” His tears have started to drip onto the couch now. “An’ tonight she looked at me like a completely different person. Like a stranger.” 

“It’s going to work itself out,” Liam says quietly, pulling Louis closer to him. “They’re grieving, Lou, and all they can find is you to blame right now. It’s not fair.”   
  
Louis sucks in a sharp breath, holding back a sob.

“Hey,” Liam squeezes his shoulders. “You showed up tonight, didn’t you?”  
  
So he did. 

…


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Louis makes it to work with a raging headache and a short temper. 

Last night’s events are playing on repeat in his mind and Louis is not in the mood to be asked about Austen, or Brontë, or whoever the fuck kids were reading these days. The store was full of Uni students today, younger kids with a voracious appetite for knowledge, and Louis still hates books. He hates  _ bookstores _ , and the people in them, and the town that stole what he wanted and never gave it back. 

“Alrigh’?” 

Louis looks up then to find Harry holding a grease-stained paper bag and a steaming cup of coffee, a camera slung across his chest. His hair is sticking out in every direction. 

_ Good lord,  _ Louis thought.  _ Does he ever brush it?  _

A greater sense of irritation followed the thought when Louis realized Harry’s hair still looked perfect. Ridiculous. He’d gone to beauty school for nearly two years and the whole ‘roll-straight-out-of-bed’ thing wasn’t real. It took three hours and enough pomade to set cement. Bebe and him used to practice on each other, and afterwards, Louis would spend half the evening in the shower. And yet, here Harry was proving otherwise. Typical. 

“Morning,” Louis said dismissively, in an attempt to shut down any further conversation. He wasn’t in the mood for banter. “Paul wants you in the back for restocking shelves.”

But Harry, true to his fashion, persists, and holds out the paper bag.

“Got you a toastie from the bakery down on Elliott,” He sets it down on the counter with a grin. “An’ some coffee if you want, although I’ll drink it if you don’t,” He suddenly looked sheepish, like a child caught using a naughty word. “No harm in three cups a day, yeah?”

Normally, Louis would take it. He was starving. It wasn’t yet ten in the morning, and a cheese toastie was warm and gooey - something the cold weather he’d walked through to the store was not. 

Now, after dinner the other night with Dan and the girls, after seeing his stepfather with dark bags under his eyes from working the night shift, after Phoebe’s breakdown, all Louis saw in front of him was wasted money. The bakery on Elliott sold pastries at three times the average price, and Louis recognized the coffee cup sleeve. That coffee was seven pounds and Harry knew he wasn’t even going to drink it. 

“No thanks,” Louis pushed it back towards him. “Sorry. M’ not hungry.” 

If Harry was annoyed by this, Louis couldn’t tell.

“No trouble,” He collected the pastries. “I’ll ask Paul.”

Of course he would. 

…

Everything had been fine for an hour. Louis managed to help a customer, stocked shelves, wiped down counters, printed off flyers, you name it. Despite his mood, Louis realized he was working like his stepfather: determined like none other. The bookstore was looking a bit different to him now as the sun came out, more open, the bookshelves welcoming, not confining. He found himself whistling once or twice.

Not a minute later Harry decides to start juggling. Louis hears him giggling like a child, and finds him pulling random sleeves off the shelves in the storage closet, blowing dust off of their covers. It’s all a show to him, a performance. He’s actually quite good at it, Louis will admit, but those are the classics he’s messing with. They’re not supposed to touch the classics, especially vintage first-editions. 

“Lou,” Harry called over his shoulder. “Lookit,” He sped up a bit. “I could be in the circus. Not with the flexibility an’ everything else, ‘course, but m’ your juggling guy.” 

“Mate, stop it,” Louis looked wearily at the boy. “Put them down.”

“Aw, c’mon.” 

“Paul will have me head, Harry. Put them down.” 

Harry’s laughing, he’s actually laughing at this. He’s tossing around the classics, the  _ classics _ like they’re bloody footballs. 

Yes, he’s only joking, and Louis could’ve handled that a year ago, but things are different now. All he sees in Harry’s hands is money. He sees valuables that this boy doesn’t give a damn about, because he’s clearly never had a problem with money. He’s never thought about each decision, each bill like Louis has. 

He’s never seen his stepfather in tears at the dining table, because things don’t  _ add up _ anymore. Not for him, and not for the six children his wife left behind. 

Paul told Louis not a week ago that Harry was from Manchester, working a part-time job as a hobby. A bloody fuckin’  _ hobby _ . Who had enough money to work an extra job as a hobby? 

“Aw, c’mon,” Harry stops for a moment, actually out of breath, a frown pulling at his lips. “It’s just a bit o’ fun, Lou.”

That nickname reminds him of Dylan and today is the wrong day to be reminding Louis of Dylan. Louis’ chest seizes up, his throat filling with emotion. 

“Fuck  _ off _ ,” Louis bursts out, and the volume of his tone has Harry flinching. “I know this is just a hobby for you, some type of summer fling you have with this town every year, but I  _ need _ the money,” 

“Louis-”

“Stop talking.”

“I only meant-”

“ _ Stop _ ,” Louis seethed, and he can feel the blood rushing to his head. “I fuckin’ need all the help I can get. Know why?” He asks, and Harry’s smart enough to not play along. 

“-It’s so I can pay rent for my family. I’ve got five younger siblings and a stepdad who’s already working three jobs. So  _ put them down _ and actually do your job.” 

Harry’s eyes go wide at the mention of Louis’ family. He’s quiet for a moment, so quiet that if the circumstances weren’t so serious, Louis would tease him for it. 

“You think you came come in here with your fancy clothes and your rich family and your fuckin’  _ seven pounds a cup c _ offee and slack off because you don’t need anything. Some of us  _ need _ something, Harry,” Louis cries. “ _ I _ need it!” 

Louis leans in close, suddenly quiet. 

“I’ve got no time for  _ Manchester royalty.  _ Do the work or fuck off.”

The storage room seems to echo for centuries as Louis storms out, slamming the door behind him. 

… 

There are several texts from Harry when Louis arrives back home, his phone buzzing the whole way there. Louis tried hard to ignore it, thought about blocking the number, but that was a tad melodramatic. Even for Louis. How did he get it in the first place? Louis was going to kill Paul. 

_ I need to talk with you. Please. _

_ Things got miscommunicated, Louis. I feel awful. _

_ My place? For a drink? _

Below was an address, and Louis can already feel the regret building in his stomach. Maybe he’d burst out for no reason. It wasn’t Harry’s fault his family was in debt, or that his sister’s hated him, or that Dylan had cheated.

Or that Mum was gone. 

Again, Liam is bewildered as Louis slams the door to the flat behind him, all but running to his room and locking himself in. 

What was he going to do? Go to Harry’s house? For  _ drinks _ ? 

… 

Somehow though, Louis finds himself in his car following the road to Harry’s home. Immediately, he’s confused. The address doesn’t lead him away from the river, towards the more posh part of town. In fact, the street he parks on cuts through flats that look just like his. The same peeling paint, the same dark windows, the same lonely people. 

As he steps into the street, Louis doesn’t know how Harry manages to keep Cassidy in his flat. There was no way the rules were any different in this part of town. 

The call button is broken, just like his, so Louis knocks, loudly. The embarrassment he felt walking out of the store has increased tenfold now, and Louis’ cheeks are flaming by the time Harry arrives at the door, pulling it open to reveal perfectly styled hair and wild, green eyes. He’s got on a pair of joggers and a torn jumper, a stark contrast to his usual printed shirts and skinny jeans. 

“Hi,” Harry says cautiously. It has Louis’ heart sinking. He’d been an asshole. “You came. Didn’t think you would.” 

The  _ exact _ same thing his stepdad had said. 

“Hi,” Louis tries to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace. The look on the Harry’s face is enough to make his stomach turn. “Christ, Harry. I’m in the wrong here. It’s not on you.”

“It is,” Harry says, and steps away from the door. “Come inside, yeah?” 

So Louis follows Harry into his building, up a flight of stairs, into an entryway that looks a whole lot like his. Harry nods to the coat hooks and Louis hurries to shrug off his hoodie, kicking his shoes underneath the shelves too. 

The first thing Louis noticed was the sheer amount of photographs. They covered every wall, every spare piece of plaster, cuts and shapes of all sizes, all colors. Each piece was tasteful, artistic, and well-placed. Knowing Harry, Louis would guess it took him one try to set everything up. He’d forgotten Harry was a photographer. 

Harry returns, then, and Louis realizes he’s still standing in the entryway, staring.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, and follows Harry into the kitchen. “I dunno why you’ve even had me over, t’ be honest,” He tells him, and Harry makes no comment as he opens the cupboards above him. “I’ve been a proper dick.”  
  
“Tea?” 

“Sorry?”  
  
“Do you want any tea?”

“Em, not if s’ organic or sugar free, no.”   
  
Harry quirks a smile, his eyes lighting up for the first time since Louis walked in.

“Then perhaps not.”    
  
Harry turns around to face him straight-on then, crossing his arms. He looks worn-out, a few years older in that very moment. 

“I asked you here because I wanted to apologize, Louis. I do stupid things sometimes, things that I don’t stop to think about doing. What I did in the bookstore today was arrogant and insensitive, and I’m embarrassed. I’d like us to be friends, Lou,” Harry says quietly. “And what I did back there was proper stupid. It was selfish. I’m sorry.”

Did Harry even remember what had happened?   
  
“I-” Louis stammers. “Fuck, Harry, s’ alright. I’m the one that yelled.”  
  
All Louis can think about now is how Harry wanted to be his _friend_. No one wanted to be his friend. Except for Liam, though, he didn't really count. Liam was like his younger brother. Bebe another sister, but she was gone now. 

“Well, you yelled, but I did something that, honestly, is incredibly tone-deaf now that I think about it. You need the money. I understand.” 

“I’m a shit person for yelling at you like that, though” Louis sighs. “I’ve got… there’s a lot of personal stuff, um, happening in my life, and I think I took it out on you,” He says it quietly, lamely, his cheeks growing red. “Point is, I messed up. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re not a shit person, Lou,” Harry says after a moment. “But I’m not Manchester royalty, just so you know. My family struggles with money too. I’ve got the job for a reason.” 

Louis is suddenly remembering that Harry has a photography job. Because he’s a photographer.  _ Fucking idiot. _ Harry  _ was _ working two jobs. 

“I thought, from what you said the first day,” Louis tried to explain, his cheeks growing red. “All about London. Paul told me it was a hobby, I… I think I misinterpreted something.” 

Hadn’t he mentioned a family in the city? Why can’t Louis remember now? 

“My dad’s family,” Harry said, and pulls open the fridge, producing two beers. He slides one across the counter to Louis, who accepts it graciously. “Him, his wife, yeah, they’ve got loads. My mum an’ sister an’ I?” he shakes his head. “Not so much.” 

“Your parents are divorced?”

“Since I was six.”

“Step-parents?” 

“My stepdad, my mum’s second husband, he’s dead,” Harry said flatly. “Cancer.”

It’s like a punch in the stomach. Everything stops for a second, Louis’ temples pulsing, the rushing noise filling his ears, like that night on the bathroom floor when Bebe had to hold him to help him breathe. 

“I - I’m sorry,” Louis said weakly, and takes a long swig of beer. “S’ how my mum went.”

Harry raises his bottle in mock salute.

“S’a cruel, cruel way to go.” He takes a swig himself, silent for a long while. “I’m sorry about your mum.” 

Louis feels numb as he tries to imagine what his life would be like with Dan gone. 

“I’m sorry about your stepdad.”

“He wasn’t,” Harry shakes his head, sighing a little. “He was my  _ real _ dad.” 

“I’m sure he loved you like a son,” Louis said boldly. “Mine does.”

Harry looks up, giving Louis a watery smile. There are unshed tears in his eyes, giving the boy a youthful look, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol.

“That’s the hope.” 

… 


	10. Chapter 10

Louis feared the evening would drag on, but Harry and him find a surprising amount of common ground. Both of them struggled with siblings. Harry’s sister Gemma, it seems, was particularly difficult about his career choice.

“The way she sees it,” Harry explains. “The only way I can support myself is with a degree. I never went to Uni, y’know. She works in journalism, an’ has like, a _ proper _ office an’ clients. I’m the photographer that used to work in a bakery, so I’m a huge disappointment.”

“You used to work in a bakery?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t buy that for a second.” 

“Why not?” Harry looked genuinely offended. “I make a mean teacake!”

Louis laughs. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Knit.”

“Harry, _ no _ one can knit.”

“And neither can I,” Harry winks. “So there.” 

God, he had nice eyes. They were so bloody green. 

Later, as Harry pulls off his jumper, his t-shirt nearly comes with it, and Louis gets an eyeful of his tattoos. He’s never seen Harry’s arms or chest uncovered. It was too cold in the shop to take anything off.

Tattoos, _ plural _. Louis has never seen so many in his life. There’s two sets of dates on his shoulders, a pirate ship, a mermaid, bold letters scattered across his skin, two sparrows just under his collarbones, giant butterfly on his stomach and more but Louis can’t see them because Harry quickly pulls his shirt down. Not before he notices Louis staring, though.

“I know.” Harry laughs. “Paul usually has me cover ‘em up.”

“Why?”  
  
“So I don’t scare any customers away.”  
  
Louis fights off the urge to roll his eyes. Harry couldn’t scare anyone away. He was far too like able, sometimes against his better judgement.

Later, walking through the flat with Harry, Louis finds an acoustic guitar. Fitting, for the hipster. 

“It’s pretty,” Louis said quietly, tracing the etched initials on the wood. Harry takes a step closer, setting the glasses down on a nearby shelf. “Do you play?”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, I dabble.”

“Go on, then," Louis says, feeling bolder by the second. Probably the beer. "Play something."

So Harry humors him, smirking a bit as he slips the instrument’s strap around his shoulder, settling cross-legged on the carpet. He tunes the strings for a moment and Louis realizes that Harry Styles is one fucking humbled lad, because he’s fingering the chords perfectly, the way Dylan used to.

_ Stop thinking about him. _

“What do you want me to play?” Harry asked, breaking Louis from his thoughts. 

“Dunno,” Louis muttered, and he swallows hard to fix the lump in his throat. Harry studies him for a moment and Louis thinks his cheeks might be growing warmer. From the wine, probably. “Who’s your favorite band?”

“Fleetwood Mac,” Harry stated, matter-of-factly. “Yours?”

“Kiss.”

Harry laughs, a short but full-bodied one that Louis hasn’t heard before, and throws his head back. 

“Take me to dinner first, mate.”

“I-I didn’t-”

“Lou, I’m just messin’ with you. I know what you meant.”

Louis’ cheeks are on fire now. There’s no denying it.

… 

The hours pass on. 

A door creaks open somewhere in the apartment, and Harry looks up, stopping mid-sentence in a conversation about painting.

A quiet voice cuts through the silence.

“...Daddy?”

Harry curses under his breath and looks a Louis for a moment, a sigh hissing through his teeth.

“One moment,” Harry promised, and gets to his feet. “Be right back.”

“Sure,” Louis tries his best to sound nonchalant. “M’not going anywhere.”

Harry gives a weak chuckle and sets off down the hall. Louis can hear the faint exchange from where he sits.

“S’ the matter, bug?”

“Too hot,” A child wails, and Louis thinks it’s a girl. “All my sheets are on the floor.”

There’s a pause and Louis knows Harry is rubbing at his eyes, like he does when he gets frustrated with an order or a rude customer.

“Love, the air-con is already on. Do you want your fan?”

More indistinct murmuring. A door opens and closes, and then a few minutes later Harry returns to the dining room, a little exasperated.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

Louis waves it off, and inside, he’s not sure how to feel. Yes, he knew that Harry was probably straight. The man was burly and tattooed, for god’s sake (Louis doesn’t support the stereotype, it’s just that every single gay man he’s ever known looks nothing like Harry). Still, the flirting, the compliments, wasn’t that any indication? He wasn’t sending mixed signals, Louis realizes, he was just being nice.

Well, fuck.

It hurts, and he thinks Harry might be bloody fantastic at reading facial expressions, because he says -

“She’s not mine.”

“Oh?”

Thank fuckin’ god.

“Her name’s Eva,” Harry explained. “An’ she’s my friend’s daughter. Well, she was.”

Louis realizes what he means and his eyes go wide.

“Harry, for god’s sake, how many horrible things have happened to you?”

Harry laughs, a bit bitterly, and takes another swig of beer.

“If m’ being honest, she’s the best product of a bad decision.”

Louis ponders this.

“...One night stand?”

“The guy took off faster than anything I’d ever seen.” Harry said. “Fucker didn’t even pay child support.”

“Oh, god.”

“I sent him photos,” Harry trailed off, his eyes hardening in anger. “We don’ know where he is. Could be Austria,” He laughed the same bitter laugh. “Could be dead.”

“You help her Mum out?”

“The Mum and her boyfriend lost their lives,” A new expression washes over Harry’s eyes. Grief. “They were-” He shakes his head, as if to banish the thought. “It was a car accident. Two years back.”

Louis can feel his eyes welling up, and he looks down to collect himself, breathing deeply.

“It devastated the family,” Harry said, before adding softly, “Including me.” 

“What were their names?”

Louis can’t help himself. He needs to know. The only thing that kept Jay alive in his mind right now was her name, over and over, pictures flashing through his mind.

“Jack and Emma,” Harry says quietly. “Their names were Jack and Emma.” 

“So…”

“Eva is legally my daughter,” Harry nodded. “I signed the paperwork to be her guardian two months after Emma died.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Louis muttered. “Harry, you’re like twenty-two.”

“Twenty-five,” Harry corrected, and Louis’ got half a mind on him to ask for an ID. “An’ I’ve always wanted kids, it was the least I could do.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Harry gives a wry smile.

“I think you could.”

That’s the last they say on the matter. When Louis finishes his beer he excuses himself, making up an excuse about Liam, how he needed his help early the next morning.

Harry lets him go, watching thoughtfully from the doorway as the boy waves goodnight and drives off.

On the way home, Louis bursts into tears. How could he have judged him that way? How could he have thought so poorly of this boy, of this man, who brought a child into his home? And for what, because she needed the help and he was willing?

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” He choked out, grip like a vice on the steering wheel lest his sobs affect his driving. “Mum, what are you trying to do?” He demanded. “He’s gonna be the end of me.”

…


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> A few days off schedule... I apologize, school just started again for me and it's a bit hectic at the moment.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- J xx

Louis manages to make it through the front door, close and lock it, hang his coat, and tiptoe through the living room before his heart nearly falls out of his chest.

“Fuckin’ _ christ _, Liam.” 

He staggers back, adrenaline coursing rapidly through his veins as his friend comes into view, nearly shrouded in the darkness. 

“Are you drunk?”

Louis inhales sharply. Liam didn’t sound _ mad _, exactly. That was always a bad sign. 

  
“No.”

  
“Then come over here,” Liam demands. “Look at me.”

  
“I’m not drunk, Liam,” Louis cuts back at him. “‘An’ m’ really not in the mood to play this game. I’m going to bed.”  
  
Louis meant to come off firm but his heart is still pounding and he hasn’t moved. Liam was sitting at the coffee table about as casually as anyone could sit at the coffee table at one in the morning (give or take an hour), staring him down. 

“I mean if you’re coming home now, it’s either ‘cos the two of you had _ mind-blowing _sex or someone died.”

Louis stiffens at the last word. If Liam noticed, he doesn’t show it. 

“Louis-”  
  
“_Liam_,” Louis returns evenly. “I’m asking you nicely to fuck off. S’ none of your business.”  
  


Liam goes quiet for a moment, then leans forward, pressing his face into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. His voice is muffled when he speaks next, drained of all energy. 

“Dan called.”  
  
Louis lets out a long sigh. _ Fuck _. 

“-An’ I couldn’t tell him where you were, who you were with, or what you were doing. Couldn’t tell him when you’d call back either, ‘cos you don’ answer your _fuckin’_ _phone_, Lou,” He looks up at him, weary. “Ever.” 

Louis has one or two sour words he could throw Liam’s way, but all the boy can seem to do is stare at the ground and feel more ashamed, feel seventeen and plastered again, sneaking back into the house before dawn. 

“What am I supposed to tell him?” Liam’s still asking. “For all I know you’re standing on a bloody _bridge_ somewhere-”  
  
“That’s enough,” Louis says hotly, his stomach twisting at the thought. A flash of a memory appears, Phoebe sobbing on the floor. He couldn’t even imagine how disappointed his family would be. 

“We need you to work with us, Lou,” Liam says quietly. “Your family needs you, and your friends need you,” He stands up slowly, collecting a cold mug of tea as he does. “I waited for a long time. Just… I don’ even fuckin’ know what to tell you,” He laughs derisively, walking away from his friend. “You could call next time, if s’ not too much trouble.” 

  
Liam leaves Louis alone in the kitchen with his thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, Louis doesn’t think about Dylan. He doesn’t think about Dylan coming to save the day. The boy in his imagination does not have blonde hair and blue eyes and strong arms.   
  
But he does have tattoos.   
  


….

The next morning, with a headache well-deserved from the amount of alcohol he’d had, Louis flies out of the flat down the street to make it to work on time.

The door slams open when he does, echoing throughout the store much like it did when Harry made his entrance the first day, but Louis is the only one standing in the bookstore this morning. 

Five minutes before opening time, and there’s no keys on the counter, no coat hung on the hook, no cup of coffee sending spirals of steam towards the rafters. 

Harry isn’t here, and somehow, Louis knows he won’t see him today. 

….   
  


Later, though, he finds himself asking anyway.

  
“Is he running late?” He asks Paul, struggling to keep his tone casual. “I’d ring him, but I don’t have his number.” 

Yes, he did, but the idea of actually sending Harry a message after last night made him a bit nauseous, as though his stomach might betray him if the boy answered. 

“He’s sick,” Paul replied, not looking up from his desk. “I was gonna bring the lad some food or summat, but I have to call in to a meeting in London soon.”  
  
Oh no.

“You mind swinging by his place?”  
  
Oh god, no.

“Sure,” Louis replied, but his voice is edging on hysteria. “S’ fine. I’ll stop by the shop too. You want chips?” 

“Alright,” Paul agreed, frowning a little. “Don’t take too long, Tomlinson.”  
  
Louis tried to grin. “Yes, sir.” 

… 

Louis makes his way to Harry’s house, the road probably too familiar for his own good. He rings the bell a few times and waits, pondering whether this was crossing a line. 

That night they’d shared wasn’t normal, he knew that. Harry and him had blurred the lines between camaraderie and well, the direct opposite. All the conversations, the singing, sharing their backgrounds. He’d told her about his daughter, for god’s sake! It was personal, it was different, and Louis had felt something. 

A feeling he thought he’d left behind in London. 

The door opens then, but Louis is not expecting what he sees.

Harry looks completely healthy, aside from the bags under his eyes and curls that clearly haven’t seen gel (or a shower, for that matter) all day. He’s got Eva on his hip, one tattooed forearm wrapped around her.

“Lou?” Harry frowned at him. “S’ the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Paul sent me. I, um, I should’ve called. Sorry.”   
  
Harry doesn’t say anything, but he moves out of the doorway to let Louis in. Eva doesn’t move, her cheek pressed into the crook of her father’s neck. 

Louis follows him into the kitchen, feeling more embarrassed with each step. _ This _ was overstepping. Literally.

“Do you want something to drink? Water, juice…” Harry wrinkles his nose at the contents of the fridge as he pulls it open. “Actually, that’s the only thing I have at the moment. I think we drank everything else last night.”  
  
Louis’s cheeks sting at the memory. He’d been drunk, enough so that he hoped he didn’t make a fool out of himself. 

“Juice is fine, thank you.”  
  
Harry pours him a tall glass of orange juice, and Louis drinks it quickly to settle his nerves. What on earth? This was bordering on lunacy now. He had to calm down. Nothing had changed.

Hadn’t it?

“Hurts, daddy.” Eva whimpers, staring up at her father. Harry kisses her firmly on the temple. 

“I know, my love,” He says. “You’ve got quite the fever. Would you like juice as well?” 

The look the little girl gives Harry is enough to make Louis choke on his own juice. 

“Guess not,” Harry said flatly, though a smile tugs at his lips and his eyes shine with laughter. “Back to bed, then?”

…

“Alright?” Harry frowns at Louis as he walks back into the kitchen. “You look a little pale.”

“I haven’t been sleeping enough,” Louis lies, jumping right into another topic. “Is Eva gonna be okay?”  
  
Harry nods. “S’ just a cold, I think. She’s got a nasty cough, but the doctor put her on some good meds. She’ll be fine in a few days.”  
  
“I can cover for you at the shop.”  
  
Harry stares at him a moment before nodding his head slowly.

“That’s very kind.”  
  
“I don’t mind.”  
  
“I can see that.” 

Louis stands. 

“I told Paul I’d be back in like, under an hour, so I should go-”  
  
Harry cuts him off. “Did I freak you out?”  
  
Louis freezes. “...Freak me out?”  
  
“Last night,” Harry clarifies. “You left quite abruptly. Did I freak you out with Eva and everything else? I was a little drunk,” He looks sheepish now, almost childlike. “You said you were going through personal stuff, I didn’t mean to like, trigger anything.”  
  
Louis guffaws at him. Never had he ever met a person who apologized for the most insightful things. It disarmed him, Harry’s kindness. 

“Of course not, no,” He stammers. “I just, that car accident you told me about was horrific, and I, um, have been struggling with my Mum’s death and I…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “Hearing about Emma dying and leaving Eva to you freaked me out a little,” He laughs nervously at Harry’s choice of words. “Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.”  
  
_ I left so abruptly because your kindness sent me spiraling, _ Louis wants to say. _ I left because you’re the kind of person I wished Dylan had been for me. _

Oh, God. That was the truth, wasn’t it?

“I apologize.”  
  
“You don’t have to.” Louis shook his head. “I hope I didn’t offend you.” 

Harry shakes his head at Louis, smiling that smile again, almost poignant. He feels braver now. 

“Can I ask you a question?”  
  
“S’pose you’re going to.”  
  
“Eva calls you ‘Daddy’,” Louis says quietly. “Does that bother you?” 

Silence. 

“My little sister, Doris, she called my oldest sister “Mummy” the other day, most likely by accident, but it really threw Lottie. We didn’t know what to do. I just wondered… if it ever gets any easier?”  
  
Because grief affected every aspect of your life, it just took, and took, and took, until there was nothing left. 

Of you or anyone else. 

Harry blinks, clearly caught off guard. Louis waits for him to collect his thoughts, wondering suddenly if this was an inappropriate question. 

“I mean... s’ a bit difficult.”  
  


“Of course.”

“She was only two when I got custody,” Harry explains. “She doesn’t quite remember her Mother. She never had a dad. Well, she had Jack, but he didn’t quite count. The social worker told her to call me “Harry” but somewhere along the line she started calling at night for “Daddy”, and well, I was the one that always came running.” 

There’s a level of emotion to the words, a level of pain beneath the surface that Louis is only noticing now.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “You know Emma would understand.”

“I miss them every fuckin’ day,” Harry returns, quieter still. “S’ not fuckin’ fair.” 

“No,” Louis echoes quietly, though he’s thinking of Jay now. “It’s not fuckin’ fair.” 

….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Each comment makes my day, so please don't be shy. I love to hear from you guys. :)
> 
> \- J xx


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And I'm finally updating again! 
> 
> My apologies for this out-of-whack posting schedule. Readjusting to my school day and workload is always difficult in the first few weeks. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter and happy reading!
> 
> \- J xx

_ The Day.  _

_ Louis was heading home early, which he never did. Whistling, which he never did, as he walked to the station.  _

_ His schedule at the salon didn’t allow this. He worked nine till five, five days a week, and often stayed overtime for a little extra, no exceptions. Living in Southeast London was cheap, until you had to do the weekly shop, and pay off student loans. Then it was a living hell, and no one had the luxury of wasting time.  _

_ Louis used to waste so much time.  _

_ But Bebe covered for him, declaring he looked exhausted, which he was, and practically shoved him out the back door into the alleyway.  _

_ So he was heading home an hour and a half early, practically glowing on Tube, desperate to see Dylan’s face when he burst unexpected through the door of their flat. Lately, Dylan had been so busy. So stressed. Each day, Louis kissed him goodbye and Dylan looked up from a mountain of dissertations to grade, giving a wan smile in return. That sort of thing tends to happen when you work alongside an American Literature professor at Queen Mary’s. Louis was ridiculously proud of him, at only twenty-seven, for maintaining that position. It was a difficult job, that much he knew, he’d seen first-hand the effect of stress on a poor grad student. But he loved Dylan, and Dylan loved his job, so he never complained about his boyfriend's lack of free time or unwillingness to go out on weeknights.  _

_ Maybe that’s why Louis was looking forward to spending a quiet evening with Dylan. Extra time meant cooking him a nice meal and taking his mind off the rapidly approaching spring semester, calming the constant, frantic look in his eyes.  _

_ He got off a stop early, which he never did. He bought Dylan a bouquet of flowers, which he never did.  _

_ Then the front door was unlocked. Which is never was. _

_ The lights were off. They never were.  _

_ Dylan’s office door was locked. It never was.  _

_ Then, as Louis stepped into the living room, still holding that goddamned bouquet of lilies, he saw it. _

_ Them. _

_ Dylan, his hair matted with sweat and sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed, eyes wild, making love to a boy that was not Louis.  _

_ He was smiling, Louis will never forget that. He was smiling down at the boy writhing in pleasure underneath him, a boy Louis had never seen before.  _

_ He dropped the flowers. Dylan startled at the noise, turning around to find Louis’ eyes, his mouth falling open in shock. _

_ Everything in slow motion. Louis’ heartbeat thrumming in his ears. Nausea, rising in his stomach.  _

_ “Lou-!” _

The nightmares were getting easier. Louis knew how to distract himself by now. He got out of bed, shucking off a sweat-ridden jumper, and stepped blindly into the shower in his sleepy haze. A jet of ice cold water will take anything off your mind, he’d found. 

_ ... _

_ Five Days Later  _

_ Saturday _

Louis was in a good mood, which didn’t happen all that often. 

But, after what seemed like months, the sun had crept out of a patch of rain clouds, shining proudly down on Doncaster much to the town’s utter confusion. It was nearing March, after all, and highly unlikely to see a ray of light this early in the season. Strange, what sunshine can do to a person’s mood. Louis felt alive, and more prepared than ever for the work week. 

A lot had happened in the last week. Still somewhat reeling from their late-night discussion and subsequent apologies, Louis and Harry were hesitant around each other. It lasted all of one shift, before Harry couldn’t take the niceties and took him aside in the stockroom, asking tersely -

“We’re fine, right?”  
  
“Right,” Louis nodded. “All’s well that end’s well, innit?”  
  
“Summat like that.” 

After that they’d been texting back and forth, brief messages, but all the while meaningful in their own way.

  
  


_ Door’s unlocked. - H _

_ Be there in five. - L _

Or - 

_ Lunch after shift? - L _

_ Sounds great. Bakery? - H  _

It was a gradual thing, retracing their steps and learning each other's boundaries yet again. Paul didn’t quite know what to think, watching the two of them dance around each other, both slightly embarrassed from learning a little too much about each other. To look at Harry and see a single dad, well, that changes a person’s perspective. Louis deeply admires his friend now, but in the back of his mind, silently nagging him, he wants more. Selfish, he knows, but a profound desire all the same. 

He knows Harry might not want the same. He knows Harry may be incapable of feeling the same. Louis hasn’t the slightest idea how to ask him that kind of question.

Better to focus on the positive. Something about the sun has put Louis in such a good mood, in fact, that’s he’s going to walk to work early. With Liam. 

They’d had a serious discussion the other night, and both sworn up and down that if they were going to share a flat they needed to be there for each other. Physically and emotionally. 

_ “No more staggering in at half past two,” Liam said sharply. “Drunk or not.” _

  
  
Louis was going to keep that promise. He had to. 

…. 

“Is that him?”

Louis looks up to where Liam is nodding, finding Harry across the street from them, wearing a lilac jumper. 

_ That boy and his fashion choices, _ Louis thought. _ I swear. He looks like a walking sprig of lavender.  _

“Yeah,” Louis says, not taking his eyes off him. “That’s Harry.” 

“He’s a fucking  _ model _ , Louis,” Liam looked awestruck. “What are you wasting your time for?!” 

“Stay out of it,” Louis growled through gritted teeth. “He’s a colleague, Li. He’s a  _ friend _ .” 

Three things happened at once.

Harry crosses the street, looking up to meet Louis’ eye. Louis raises a hand in greeting, smiling. Liam moves closer to Louis, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

And then, to Louis’ horror, Liam leans forward and kisses him on the lips. A proper kiss, not quite what Dylan would do, but a kiss all the same. Louis doesn’t have time to say anything, or shove him off, because Harry’s standing in front of the both of them now. The wind whips through his curls as he stares at them, looking a bit perplexed. 

Liam grins at Harry, then turns to wink at Louis. That  _ bastard _ and his experiments. Louis was going to kill him. 

Even more so if the outcome is what Liam expected - which it usually was. 

“Have a good day, love.” 

And then Liam was gone, jogging across the street.

“‘Lo,” He nodded in the direction Liam went. “Is that your boyfriend, then?”   
  


So casual. Louis isn’t sure he’s ever met someone this nonchalant. For all Harry knew, Louis was straight up until about two seconds ago, but it clearly doesn’t faze him in the slightest. 

“No,” Louis says. “That was one of my mates trying to prove a point, m’ afraid.” 

He can’t miss the way Harry grins. Oh no. 

“What point would that be?”

“Well, that would ruin the surprise,” Louis says darkly. “Come on then. We’ll be late.”

They set off together, a new, silent understanding between the two of them. Had Louis looked up, he would’ve seen Harry looking back at Liam, then to him. Studying each boy. Connecting the pieces. 

… 

The store was a mess. With spring holidays rapidly approaching and Paul preparing to travel to Paris for a fellow professor’s thesis defense, the morning shift was chaotic to say the least. Harry and Louis were equally shocked to discover that, yes, Paul used to be an English Literature professor at Sorbonne, and yes, he was leaving tomorrow.

“It’s nothing to get in a tizzy about,” The older man said cheerfully, sliding books into their respective shelves as he did. “I’ll be back in a few days, but the store will be yours until then.”   
  
_ Yours.  _ Harry and Louis exchanged a perplexed, slightly terrified look.

After that it was restocking, cleaning shelves, wiping down windows, organizing desk drawers. Discreetly taping together a flimsy book cover while Harry did his best to distract Paul. 

Then, their shift was up, the day somehow flying past without either of them realizing it. 

Louis grabs his coat, heading out into the quiet evening light. 

“You gonna swing by the pub?”   
  
He turns around. Harry’s got his head stuck out the back window, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Why?”   
  
“‘Cos I want a pint and summat to eat,” Harry says, green eyes glittering with laughter. “That’s why.”   
  


“Sorry, but no,” Louis laughs. “I’ve got dinner with the girls at eight. Need to go home and change.” 

Harry nods. “A’right, tell them hello.”   
  
Louis pauses, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Do you want to come?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Friendly reminder that all writers THRIVE off of feedback and comments (in any and every form). Don't be shy! Let me know what you thought below. 
> 
> \- J xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Happy Wednesday and happy reading. :) 
> 
> \- J xx

Harry looks up at him, curls falling into green eyes, and grins that bloody crooked grin. 

“Sounds like fun.”    
  
Louis doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat this fast. 

“What about Eva?”

“I’ve got a friend who can watch her,” Harry assures. “She owes me.” 

“Right then,” Louis’s voice is surprisingly steady. “We’ll… meet at my house at half seven? I’ll drive.” 

Harry nods, pulling back from the window to roll up his sleeves, exposing armfuls of tattoos. God help him. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Louis knows, without a doubt, that he will. Harry showed up for people. 

Dylan never did. 

...

“Christ, Tommo. Where’s the fire?” 

Liam is standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a mug of tea, seemingly unperturbed by Louis’s tornado-like behaviour as he scours the floor for his shoes. His friend is wearing a dark green pullover and his nice jeans, an outfit Liam hasn’t seen in a very long time on Louis. Louis had told him fiercely that it “wasn’t a  _ date _ , Liam,” but Liam isn’t so sure. Not with that dark green pullover, at least. 

“He’ll be here in a bit, an’ I don’t need to look like an idiot!”  
  
“Oh, well, I’m not sure you can change that in ten minutes.” 

  
“Oh, sod off.” Louis shot back, and flips him the bird for his troubles. 

Liam doesn’t mention he’s never seen his friend this flustered, that the last time Louis was blushing like a lovestruck idiot, it was before his first date with Dylan.

Liam prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that this - whatever this is - ends up better. He’s not sure his best friend can handle another heartbreak, and Liam certainly can’t watch him sob on the bathroom floor again. 

…

The doorbell goes off like a gunshot. Louis isn’t sure he’s ever had such a visceral reaction to a noise. Louis salutes him like a dutiful soldier as he heads for the door.

“Good luck, mate.”

And when Louis nods, still wide-eyed in slight terror, Liam knows this is truly important.   
  
“I’ll call when we leave.” He swears.  
  
“You’d better.” 

Harry’s wearing a navy jumper and black skinny jeans when Louis opens the door, slightly short of breath. Instead of his usual bandana from the shop, Harry’s hair falls to his shoulders, artfully gelled. His green eyes are striking against the dark curls, and Louis grins sheepishly. They made an odd pair the two of them, but Louis wouldn’t want anyone else at this dinner with him. 

“Hello.”

“‘Lo,” Harry grins crookedly, holding up a bottle of wine. “Ready?”

“Ready.” 

So they set off, Louis driving rather carefully down the street and turning off towards the river. Liam watches from the kitchen window, sipping peppermint tea, grinning like an idiot.    
  


…

“Tell me the names again.”  
  
“Christ, I forgot. Lottie is the oldest girl, then the twins-”  
  
“The first set of twins.”  
  
Louis rolls his eyes as he flips on the turn signal.

“Right, the _first_ set of twins, Daisy and Phoebe, then the little ones are Ernie and Doris.”  
  
“So you an’ Ernie are the only boys?”  
  
“Not quite. My stepdad Dan will be there.” 

Harry nods, and goes silent for a moment. Louis stares straight ahead at the road. He’s wondering now how often Harry gets out with his friends or family, what with Eva and everything. Parenting was a full-time job. He’d witnessed his mother struggle through single parenting for years firsthand. Louis realizes with a start that Harry lost his own stepdad not that long ago. 

Grief was such an isolating force. Louis still wakes up gasping for air, tears streaming down his cheeks, staring wildly around his dark bedroom, struggling to separate reality from fiction. 

He wonders if Harry has nightmares too. 

“Thanks for letting me come along.”   
  
Harry’s voice breaks his reverie and Louis looks at him, perplexed. 

“Thanks for coming with me, H. I don’t fancy showing up alone to a family dinner. It’s a disaster.”

Harry is grinning at him like an idiot, his head cocked to one side.

“What?”   
  
“Did you just call me H? S’ that a nickname?” 

“Oh, fuck off.”  
  
“It’s _definitely_ a nickname.” Harry sounds annoyingly gleeful. “I’ve never had a nickname before.” 

“Isn’t “Harry” a nickname?”  
  
“For wha’?”

“Harold?”   
  
Harry barks out a laugh, only partly stifling it with his palm. Louis can’t help but grin. It’s a great sound.

“We’re not  _ that _ posh, Lou.” 

Louis does not point out that, in fact, “Lou” was also a nickname. They spend the rest of the drive in a comfortable silence, Harry humming snatches of a beautiful melody Louis doesn’t recognize.

… 

The moment after the doorbell rings seems to last centuries, and Harry snaps a hand up to stop Louis from ringing it again in his nervousness.

“Give them a chance,” He says quietly. “And take a breath. You’re shaking.”   
  
So he was. Somehow showing up to dinner with someone is eight times more frightening than showing up alone.

Maybe because Louis, and practically everyone inside this house, assumed that if anyone was going to accompany him, it would be Dylan. 

_ Deep breath in. _

“Lou!” Dan exclaims when he finally answers the door. “Good to see you, my boy.” 

“Hi Dan,” Louis says, and nods to Harry, who raises a hand in greeting. “Hope you don’t mind but I brought Harry along. We work at the book shop together.”

To his credit, Mark does his best to conceal his surprise. The shock is still painfully evident in his tone. 

“...Harry! It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You as well,” Harry says politely. “Thank you for having me.” 

Dan looks between Louis and Harry, clearly off put by this curveball. What Louis would give for Bebe to be here with them. She knew how to dissolve the tension in seconds. It was something Louis always admired about her. 

“Well then,” Dan says awkwardly. “We’d better-”  
  
“Go inside,” Louis cuts him off, flashing his stepdad a pleading glance. “Dinner’s at seven, innit?” 

“Right, of course. Come on in, both of you.”    
  
The three of them step into the entryway, walking past the sitting room and down the hall into the kitchen. Harry stops a few times to look at hanging photos, embarrassing snapshots ranging from year eight to university. Louis has to tug him firmly away from a mortifying school picture, his cheeks going red as Harry stifles a laugh. 

Phoebe and Daisy are arguing fiercely over something - who gets the telly after dinner if Louis had to guess - while Doris was fixated on a drawing in front of her, pencils and pens scattered about on the counter tile. Lottie peers over the stove, whisking at a bubbling pot every so often, Ernie on her hip. 

“You weren’t kidding,” Harry breathes next to him. “S’ a lot of sisters.”  
  
Louis surveys the scene, measuring the chaos by noise level. At least an eight. 

“You’ve no idea.” 

Dan strides in front of them, sharply putting a stop to Phoebe and Daisy’s argument and removing a marker from Doris’s fist before she can shove it in her mouth.

Lottie looks up then, locking eyes with Harry from across the room, and nearly drops the whisk in the pot of sauce. The confusion in her eyes is so intense it’s nearly comical. 

“...Lou?” 

“Hi Lots,” Louis grins at her. “This is Harry. We work down at the shop together.”

“Hello.” Harry waves. “It’s nice to meet you.”   
  


In any other scenario, Lottie would’ve flirted. Would’ve seen Harry with this dark, curly hair and green eyes and kind smile, and completely melted. Not tonight. 

Lottie is never one to run-around an issue when it presents itself, so she asks-

“Where’s Dylan?” 

All the air leaves the room. 

So it was going to be one of  _ those _ dinners. 

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment and let me know what you thought :) 
> 
> \- J xx


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Hope it's been a good work so far for you guys. I personally cannot wait until it's the weekend - I need some sleep :/
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- J xx

With Lottie’s question, all of the air is sucked out of the room. 

The truth hangs in glaring fashion between them, and Louis watches helplessly as Harry’s eyes widen in confusion. The tension is palpable. Even Doris and Ernie go quiet, watching with wide eyes as the adults stand motionless. 

“...Dylan’s back in London.” 

Lottie can’t let it go.

“Why?”

“Charlotte,” Dan tries. “It’s none of our business-”   
  
“Because of work,” Louis tells her harshly, cutting Dan off. “He’s busy.”  
  
The look on his sister’s face is undeniable. Lottie knows exactly what that means. She’s given that excuse time and time again to their family, and to watch her process it the span of a few seconds is difficult. Her expression twists into one of heartbreak. She loved Dylan like a brother, and like Louis, fully anticipated that he would marry her brother. 

“Tell him I say hi,” Lottie says meekly, all the color drained from her face. “Hello, Harry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s nice to meet you.”  
  
“You as well,” Harry returns politely, though his eyes are tight. “Louis has told me so much about you and his siblings. I only have one sister, but we’re extremely close. I can’t imagine what it’s like having six.” 

“It’s absolute hell on earth, s’ what it is.”

Thank goodness Harry laughs, because no one else does. 

Phoebe takes the opportunity to move tentatively towards Louis, then all at once, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Louis staggers back a bit from the force, laughing.

“Hi, Phee. What’s this - You  _ missed _ me?” He teases. “S’ that it?” 

His little sister pinches him on the arm and Louis swats at her playfully. 

“You’re always  _ bus _ y.” She accuses. 

“I know, love. I’ve got work all week. I’m sorry.” 

  
  


Phoebe doesn’t let go, only turning slightly to peek at Harry. She then looks up to Louis, accusatory. 

“Have you played footie with him yet? He’s tall. He’d be good.”   
  


It’s like snuffing out a flame. Louis, Dan, and his sisters all burst into laughter. Tension dissolves from the room. Thank god for Phoebe and her quick thinking. Louis leans down, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead in thanks, and she giggles. 

“His name is Harry, love. And no, I haven’t played with him yet.” 

Harry looks on, clearly amused. 

“You didn’t tell me you played footie, Lou.”   
  
Now it’s Louis’ turn to feel overwhelmed. 

“I, um, get together with the lads once a week. We go down to Sanford Road for a game or two. My friend Liam, my roommate, he used to be captain of our Uni club team.”   
  
“You’re putting me on.” Harry says, though he’s grinning.

“I’m not!”   
  


“You any good?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m alright.”   
  
The collective look Louis receives from his family tells Harry that Louis is most certainly not just _alright_ at football. 

“We should get a game going, then,” Harry declares. “I’m  _ alright _ as well.” 

Phoebe laughs at that, and from across the room Dan’s face lights up. It breaks Louis’ heart knowing that his stepdad rarely sees Phoebe smile. The past few months haven’t had much room for smiles. Or laughter, for that matter. 

...

After that, Harry and Louis decided it would be for the best if they leave Dan and Lottie alone in the kitchen to cook. The two of then, Phoebe, and Daisy (carrying Doris) all head outside into the garden. 

Even in March, it’s cold. The wind is strong enough that Louis sends Daisy in to fetch a jumper for Doris. Phoebe and Doris walk hand and hand down the hill, overlooking the busy street and town below from the gate. 

Harry and Louis sit in the grass, side by side, watching the sun slowly creep towards the horizon. Harry clears his throat awkwardly. 

“That was… nice.”   
  
Louis closes his eyes, defeated. 

“I really should’ve warned you that family dinners tend to… implode.”   
  


“It’s alrigh’.”   
  
“I didn’t mean -  _ she _ didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Lottie just gets defensive. It’s instinct. She’s kind of the Mum of the house when Dan isn’t around, and her and I haven’t had the best track record the past couple of weeks.” 

That was putting it lightly. 

“Gemma’s protective too,” Harry says quietly, smiling at the thought. “She used to hold my hand when we crossed the street, up until I was eight or nine. It’s okay, I get it.”    
  


The door slams shut. Daisy’s back, toting a burgundy jumper. She regards the two of them curiously, but walks down the hill to join her twin sister and Doris. 

Harry plucks a blade of grass from the ground and fiddles with it, parting it three ways and starting to plait it. Louis watches him do it, somewhat focused on the dark cross tattooed on his hand. It marked the junction of his thumb and pointer finger. Louis wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before. Paul must actually ask Harry to cover them up for work, and that tattoo makeup was  _ expensive _ . Louis had to cover models with it all the time on set when he’d get called in with Bebe. 

God, he missed her. They made a great team. 

Louis realizes, with a jolt, that he’d be working alone in the store five days a week had he not met Harry. He’d be sitting on this hillside alone, watching his siblings play together in the tall grass, reminiscing about London. 

“Who’s Dylan?”   
  


The name warrants a wince from Louis. 

  
“My ex-boyfriend.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“We were together for almost four years.”

“Wow.”

Louis nods glumly. “I met him after I dropped out of Uni. It didn’t end well. I, um, caught him cheating.”

Saying it out loud doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as Louis had anticipated. It’s a bit like exhaling when you didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath. It was freeing. 

“Christ, that’s awful.” 

“Yeah, it was a nasty surprise. I thought we were, like, a proper couple. You know?” 

He’d thought a lot of things about Dylan, but they weren’t particularly nice anymore. 

Harry nods silently, turning to study the sunset intently. Louis watches it with him, wondering how different things would’ve turned out had he not come home early that day. Would they still be together? Louis forever a fool? The last one to know? 

“I know it’s not quite the same - so feel free to tell me off - but I sort of felt that way when I adopted Eva. Like I’d been taken by surprise, like I’d anticipated something playing out in one way and then it didn’t. I don’t think I was quite ready to be a dad. It sort of pulled the rug out from underneath me. I was treading water for a long time.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I was still grieving Emma, and I missed her, and rocking Eva to sleep was as painful as it was comforting. Like a piece of my friend was there with me, but it still reminded me that I’d lost her.” 

“Wow,” Louis says hoarsely, suddenly overwhelmed with empathy for Harry. “That’s the exact way I feel about my siblings.”

They watch Phoebe and Doris dance together in a circle, giggling. 

“-It’s like watching them through my mum’s eyes sometimes. I’m proud of them, and I love them of course, but at the same time I can’t forget who raised them. It suddenly feels like I’m a parent, when I still need my mum as much as they do.” He laughs hollowly. “And I’m twenty-six!” 

“You grow up fast when you lose a parent.”  
  
“You do.” Louis nods.

The two of them lock eyes, sharing a quiet moment of understanding. Louis looks away first. 

The door opens again. Dan steps out, a dish towel in one hand.

“Dinner’s on!” 

“Anything I should know?” Harry teases him as they get to their feet. “Before I’m thrown to the wolves again?”  
  
“Don’t bring up Sheffield United,” Louis warns him. “Trust me.” 

Always good-natured, Harry salutes him like a soldier.

“Yes sir.” 

Louis grins. Dan looks at the two of them, perplexed. 

…

To Louis’ utter relief, dinner finishes with no other surprises. Harry is exceedingly polite, passing dishes around the table and asking Phoebe and Daisy questions about school and their winter holiday. 

Louis can’t ignore the way Dan is looking between the both of them, though, studying Louis’ face as he laughs at Harry’s joke, watching Harry as Louis recounts an embarrassing story from his Uni days. He knows, and he understands the position Louis has put himself in. 

“A good lad,” He murmurs in Louis’ ear when he pulls him into a hug at the door. “Better looking than Dylan too. Keep this one, will ya?”

If he only knew.  
  
“Trying my best,” Louis whispers back, squeezing him tightly. “Thanks for dinner.”  
  
“‘Course. Nice meeting you Harry.”  
  
“You as well,” Harry replies for the thousandth time. “I’d love to do it again some time. Have a great night.” 

  
  


...   
  
The car ride the way back is mostly silent, Louis navigating the roads back to Harry’s house slower than usual in the dark. 

“You were staring at my tattoos earlier.”   
  
Louis’ fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

“I was.”  
  
“Do you have any?”

Louis looks up at him for a moment, then back to the road, trying not to lose his nerve.

“Yeah, my left sleeve.” 

Harry’s fingers graze the edge of Louis’ jumper. Louis swallows, his throat closing in on him a little. 

“Can I?”  
  
“Sure.”

Harry pulls gently on Louis’ jumper, pushing the fabric up to his shoulder. 

“Wow,” He breathes, taking in all the designs. “These are beautiful. I like the color, too.” 

Harry traces the outline of Louis’ compass, the paper airplane, the mug of tea Liam tattooed on him when he was drunk. Actually, that was one of his favorites if he’s honest. It brought back some hilarious memories. 

But he’s trying his hardest not to react, because Harry running his fingers up and down Louis’ arm reminds him of a different time. A time when Dylan would hold him after a nightmare, rocking him gently, trying his best to soothe him. 

_ It wasn’t real, darling. You’re alright. It’s okay.  _

“Lou?” Harry asks quietly, bringing him out of his thoughts. “What’s this one mean?” 

Louis takes his eyes off the road and follows Harry’s finger, his stomach twisting. 

A tiny, cursive word.  _ Darling _ . Dylan’s name for him. In bed, on the street, as soon as he woke up. Dylan scarcely called him “Louis”, and Louis wonders if that was for a reason. One name for multiple lovers? Too easy - no potential slip-ups.

“Oh,” He clears his throat, because there’s a lump there that wasn’t before. “I, um, I’ve been meaning to get tha’ removed.” 

No he hadn’t.

Harry stiffens for a moment, but it’s so fleeting Louis doesn’t have time to dwell on it. 

A few minutes later, Louis pulls up alongside the Harry’s flat, turning off the car. They sit in silence for a while.

“That was nice.” Harry finally says, and Louis can tell he’s being genuine. “You have a really wonderful family. I can see why you’re so calm, though. Being around that many people would turn anyone into a librarian.”  
  
“Oi, s’ a book _shop_, so you better watch yourself. I’ll not have you disparaging Paul’s career.” 

Harry snickers, leaning in towards Louis as he does, his shoulders shaking. 

For an electric few seconds, Harry and Louis lock eyes. Harry leans in closer, tilting his head in and  _ oh my god it’s happening- _

He pulls away.

_ Fuck. _

“Sorry,” Louis says, and of course he’s breathless. Idiot. 

Even blushing, Harry manages to look concerned. He was so emotionally aware - why was that so fucking hot? Jesus Christ. 

“Why are you sorry?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Me either,” He studies him a moment longer, then shakes his head. “I’ve gotta go up. Glenne - my friend watching Eva - is waiting for me. I’ll see you Monday, Lou.”  
  
“See you,” Louis says hoarsely, waving awkwardly as Harry heads up the pavement to his door, turning to grin stupidly back at Louis.

God help him. He’s in so much trouble, falling for this boy. 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I type this out literally every time but I still mean it-
> 
> Writers THRIVE off of feedback. Please drop and comment and let me know what you thought of the chapter. I don't bite, don't be shy!
> 
> \- J xx


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelies! Hello!
> 
> I know I'm posting a few days late, and this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. I'm trying my best to update you guys with new material before I'm traveling next weekend, and will have absolutely no time to write. :(
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter anyway! Happy reading. 
> 
> \- J xx

It’s difficult to spend the weekend thinking about anything other than Harry. 

Louis barely made it through the doorway after dinner before Liam pounced, armed with more questions than either of them knew what to do with. Liam practically blocked the way to the kitchen to get as many details as possible, ignoring Louis’ feeble shoves to get past him. 

“Did he make a move?”  
  
“A move was made.” Louis admits, hanging his head in embarrassment when Liam whoops obnoxiously.   
  
“By who?”

Louis shrugs off his coat, revealing a jumper that certainly smells like Harry by now. Like vanilla, and ...tobacco? Harry didn’t smoke, but his cologne made it smell like he did.   
  
“Uh, Harry. He tried to kiss me.”

God, just saying that _out_ _loud_ made him blush.   
  
“He did _not_.” 

Louis nods and Liam’s jaw hits the floor.

“Fuckin’ christ… a libary boy making the move. Times really are changin’.”

“Liam,” Louis said indignantly. “Don’t be a wanker.”  
  
“S’ too late for that, love.” 

“Liam!” 

His eyes shining with laughter, Liam finally steps aside so that Louis can shove past into the kitchen. He’s starving by now. He’d lost his appetite at Dan’s, what with nerves and everything. 

Something about Lottie staring him down from the stove, making him question everything he had and once had, well, it didn’t make him all that hungry. 

“So he’s a good one, then?”   
  
Liam’s leaning against the doorframe still, arms crossed as he watches his friend assemble a sandwich with the measly ingredients in their fridge. They really needed to do some more shopping. 

“I think so,” Louis says quietly, suddenly overcome with the memory of Harry sliding that pastry bag across the counter that one morning. He was so good and wholeheartedly kind, even when people didn’t reciprocate. “He’s got… I dunno, a way about him? With Dylan, I was completely convinced he’d break my heart someday. He gave off that reckless energy.”  
  
“And Harry doesn’t feel that way?”  
  
“He leaned in to kiss me, Li, and pulled away ‘cause he got nervous. And I apologized-”

  
“Oh christ, Lou.”  
  
“Fuck off an’ let me tell the story, will you?” Louis snapped. “I apologized and he looked, like, proper concerned that I did. He wanted to know why I was sorry, or if I was uncomfortable or summat. Dylan never would’ve cared. He would’ve kissed me without asking. He took what he wanted.”  
  
“And Harry asks.”  
  
“Yeah.” Louis nods, smiling at the realization. “Harry asks.” 

A stupid grin spreads over Liam’s face as well. He pushes off the doorway, turning to head for the hallway stairs. 

“I’m proud of you, mate. That takes some guts.”  
  
“Thanks Li.”  
  
“Night, Lou.”

…

Friday turns into Saturday morning, then Sunday morning, and then twenty-four hours pass and Louis is laying out his clothes for work. 

“I’d say don’t screw it up, but…” Liam trails off cheekily. “Probably wrong choice of words.”  
  
“Summat like that,” Louis laughs, and takes a step back, studying his choice. “What d’ you think?”  
  
Liam studies the burgundy jumper and torn black jeans, nodding. 

“I’d date you.”  
  
Louis wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”  
  
“Yeah, hard pass. No offense.”  
  
“None taken.”

… 

Louis barely makes it to work on time, throwing open the front door with enough force to part the Red Sea. 

He’s shaking from the rain, because _of_ _course_ halfway through his walk it had to start pouring, and dripping onto the hardwood. Paul was actually going to kill him. He’d probably come back from Paris and cut him into little, tiny -

“You alrigh’?” 

Louis looks up. Harry’s standing behind the counter, regarding him with a perplexed expression. He’s wearing the same floral hawaiian shirt from the day they first met, his tangled curls bundled into a bun and tied with a dark green scarf. 

“Fine,” Louis shakes his head, and droplets of water go flying. “Just thought I was gonna be late.”  
  
“You know I can hold down the fort by myself.”  
  
“Yeah,” He laughs. “You and your disgusting black coffee have it handled.”  
  
“Oi!” Harry raises the coffee cup in question in mock threat. “I’ll not have you tarnish the reputation of black coffee.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis pulls off his wet jumper and hangs up his keys by the door. He flicks on the first set of overhead lights and Harry winces, clearly still not fully awake. 

“We good to open?”   
  
Harry peers out at the street. Its completely desolate due to the recent downpour. Londoners were never so dramatic. Rain, shine, blizzard, people in the metropolis had places to be and people to see. But not here. Not in Donny. Louis had to respect his hometown for having some hard limits. 

“Suppose so, yeah.” 

So Louis and Harry pull up blinds, turn on their cheerful  _ Open _ ! sign, and flick on the rest of overhead lights. Even with the rain pouring outside, the warmth from within is enough to make Louis smile. The old bookshelves are filled to the brim, labeled and organized obsessively by Paul. The wooden checkout counter shines from polish, and the windows are spotless. Louis is filled with a sense of pride. This place was starting to grow on him. 

Even Paul’s office looks welcoming, although the faded green leather chair is oddly empty. The man really couldn’t get back soon enough from Paris. 

Despite Paul’s absence, Harry and Louis are quick to start up shop and help customers who trickle in and out much like the rain, which has slowed by mid-morning. 

“Oh, look a’ that.” Harry’s grinning, staring out the window. “It’s finally out.”

Sunlight is streaming through dark clouds, shining down the street and on passersby who are just as captivated by the unexpected light. 

Louis joins Harry by the front window in a rare moment of quiet in the store, still holding an armful of books that needed to be shelved, grinning at the sunlight as it moved towards the front display. 

Harry frowns. 

“Who’s tha’?”    
  
Louis looks at where Harry’s pointing, and sees a young man leaning against the wall of the coffee shop across the street. He’s staring straight back at the two of them through the window.

He’s smirking, tilting his head sideways as if to say - “Really?”

He’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and  _ please god, no _ , Louis drops the books he’s holding, it falling and hitting the ground with a  _ bang _ . 

Louis feels all the color drain from his face.

“That’s Dylan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you!
> 
> Thanks for reading my writing. Comment below and let me know how you liked it! 
> 
> \- J xx


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I meant to post this like four days ago and didn't. My only explanation is college deadlines, haha. 
> 
> Happy Thursday, and happy reading. I hope you guys like this one!
> 
> \- J xx

Louis’ world is spinning before him. He blinks, but Dylan is still there, smirking. 

_ This was not happening.  _

Leave it to Dylan Clark to come to Doncaster, of all places, to have the last word. He really couldn’t move on without the last word, could he? Louis used to admire that about his ex-boyfriend, his drive and vigor, but not anymore. Not now that  _ he _ was the loose string meant to be tied up. Not now that  _ he _ was the problem that needed to be fixed. 

“ _ That’s _ Dylan?” Harry asks, clearly unimpressed. 

Harry is suddenly very still, fixated on the man across the street as intensely as Louis is. Had Louis been looking straight at Harry, he would’ve seen his eyes darken. 

“That’s Dylan. Didn’t think I’d be seeing him… ever again, really.” 

Louis hasn’t bothered to even look down at the books he’s dropped, no doubt expensive copies that will turn up battered on the shelf in a week. Paul would give him a talking-to for his troubles.

But Louis can’t think about that. He hasn’t broken eye contact with Dylan, whose smirk was growing bigger by the second.

_ Oh, that smug fucking bastard.  _

“He’s wasting his time here, though, isn’t he?”

Louis frowns. There was that tone again - teetering on the edge of discomfort and curiosity. Harry, too, hasn’t looked away from the window. 

Louis cuts him a glance. 

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

Harry lets out a tight laugh, shaking his head.

“It means I don’t fuckin’ want you anywhere near him, Lou.”

“Harry,” Louis says, surprised to find his tone fierce despite his complete bewilderment. “Stay out of it.” 

Harry sets his jaw, clearly struggling to hold back harsher words. He turns away from the window, heading back towards the bookshelves. 

“You should just stay away from him. There’s clearly something not right about him, what with all you’ve told me.”

“Why?”

“Wh- I just told you why!”

“Mate, if you’ve got a problem with people like us, just fuckin’ spit it out already.”

Devastating, but not uncommon. Louis knew people had their sick, twisted reasons for fighting against same-sex couples. Love is love, he’d always believed that, but not everyone did. 

Harry, though. Harry was meant to be different, and it breaks his heart to think otherwise. 

Speaking of, Harry has stopped in his tracks, bewildered. 

“What are you  _ on _ about?”   
  


“I’m gay.” Louis snaps. “He’s gay. We were together for years. Grow the fuck up.”

  
  
Harry spins around, his hair coming undone from his scarf. It hangs in tangled curls over his eyes, which shine with anger. Louis has never seen him this way, almost unhinged, trembling with fury. 

“Christ. I’m not a fucking  _ homophobe _ , Louis, I’m in love with you.”   
  


It’s as though all the air is sucked out of the room. 

_ Oh. _

Louis thinks all the blood has drained from his face. He stands frozen as Harry packs up his satchel, shoving in rolls of film and notes in a haphazard fashion. He doesn’t make eye-contact. 

“-and he treated you like fuckin’  _ shit _ ,” Harry curses, and slings the bag over his shoulder. “I think you should consider whether he’s worth your trouble. ‘Cause from what I’ve heard, he’s not.”

The echo of the shop door slamming seems to last for hours. 

…

_ “It’s alright, my love, you’re alright.”  _

_ Louis is not alright. He can’t breathe. He’d woken in a panic, tears streaming down his cheeks, numb fingers searching frantically for Dylan in the dark, who’d just gotten home from work.  _

_ He’d been working 7 AM till 11 PM lately, drafting out midterms with his professor for the first years, and Louis couldn’t fall asleep as easily without him.  _

_ “I’m here,” Dylan soothed, untangling the boy from the covers to pull him against his chest. He could feel Louis’s chest heave with each sob. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re okay.”  _

_ “Couldn’t stop, c-couldn’t stop it.” _

_  
_ _  
_ __“It was a dream, Lou,” Dylan was fiercely rubbing his hand up and down his back, trying to bring back some circulation and calm him down. The boy was shivering in his arms, eyes glazed over, still lost in his nightmare. “It wasn’t real.”

_  
__  
_ __“It felt real,” Louis says, his tone hollow. “I was running so fast, and I-” He tries to hold back another sob but it bubbles out, cutting through the quiet of the bedroom. “I couldn’t get away. I was all alone.”

__   
_   
_ __ Dylan carded his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

_ “You’re not alone now,” He said quietly. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” _

_  
__  
_ __“Ever?”

_  
__  
_ __“Ever.” Dylan swore, solemnly.

_ And Louis believed him.  _

_ …  _

By the time Louis is able to start breathing again and tug off his name tag, grab his keys, and turn the sign from  _ Open _ to  _ Closed _ , Harry is long gone. 

Paul is going to _kill_ him. Leaving the store unmanned was a carnal sin. Leaving it closed on a _work day?_ Unimaginable. He might as well start digging his grave. But there's no time for imagining, not now.  Louis has half a mind on him to never turn back up at the shop, but he knows the bookstore owner would find him one way or another. If Liam didn't budge, Louis is sure Dan would point him in the right direction. 

Louis knows he’ll be left out in the rain, buzzing Harry’s flat for hours on end. He knows that the other boy will sulk and Louis will try to dissuade him but to no avail, so chasing after Harry is useless. Better to let Harry come to him. 

His skin breaks out in goosebumps as he steps out of the shop into the street, from fear of the unknown or the cold rain, he doesn’t know. 

Out of all the things Harry could say,  _ I’m in love with you  _ was not remotely on Louis’s radar. 

Love? 

_ Love?  _

Louis almost wants to not believe it, but he saw it in Harry’s eyes, that wild-eyed, vulnerable,  _ please, god, tell me I’m not the only one  _ kind of look. He knows it’s real.

Because he used to look at Dylan that way. 

… 

Dylan. Dylan’s crossed the street by now, completely undeterred by the scene he’s caused and just watched unfold. He’s to the left, standing under the awning of the bakery next store. His blonde hair is stark against the red brick of the bakery’s exterior, out of place. 

He’s beautiful. He always has been, but it’s particularly poignant here, in this moment, because Louis hates him for it. Someone so beautiful should not be capable of such horrible things, but he was.

He is. 

And he is still grinning, the bastard. They stand in silence for a moment, regarding each other from metres away, not having to say a thing to make their thoughts known.

This is the first time Louis has seen Dylan since months ago, since he stood numb and speechless in their living room. Since he saw Dylan with  _ him _ , who Liam finally revealed was named Charlie. Louis refused to call Charlie anything but  _ him _ , though he knows it wasn’t Charlie’s fault, not really.

Louis supposed  _ he _ was Charlie at one point, wasn’t he? No doubt another outlet for Dylan, who went home each night to another man, until that fell apart and _Louis_ became the man. 

Like a fucking game of Jenga, Louis realizes. Pull out one block, and stack the other on top. Replaceable, that's what Louis is to Dylan. 

“Small world, Lou.” 

Louis will not yell. He refuses to be like him. 

“Only to some.” 

“I came to see you,” Dylan says, his blue eyes shining with greed. “I wanted to explain myself, but you took off long before I could.”

A woman walks alongside the pavement, regarding the two of them suspiciously. Louis smiles at her, willing her to keep walking. She does. 

  
  
“That tends to happen when you find your boyfriend fucking someone you don’t recognize, Dylan. You leave them.”

A pause. Dylan wasn’t expecting that response, and he stiffens momentarily before he regains his nerve.

“It was a mistake, Lou.”

  
  
“Don’t fucking call me that. That’s not my name.” 

People are staring, but Louis could care less. He refuses to engage, refuses to come face to face with the man who left him so utterly heartbroken, who shattered his world while it still spun. 

Maybe because in the back of his subconscious, Louis thinks Dylan could actually convince him it was an accident, that he still loves Louis, and that fucking  _ terrifies _ him. 

He knows he can’t go back to London. He’s here for good now. Here for his family. Here for Harry, if Louis can manage to make things right.

He’s here from  _ himself _ .

  
  
“I still love you.”

_ Jesus Christ.  _ Louis shoves his keys into his satchel, ignoring him. 

“Lou.”

  
  
Keys, name tag, loose registration papers from the co-op. Head down, don’t make eye contact.  _ Breathe _ . 

“Louis.”

“That’s a bloody shame then, isn’t it?” Louis finally snaps, unable to deny the heartache in his tone, the misery. “You don’t get to ruin someone’s life and then come crawling back when you feel like it. I hope he was worth it.” 

“He wasn’t.”   


  
“Well, then I hope he didn’t take your word for it when you promised to stay _forever_,” Louis says coldly, shoving past him as he walks away. “I hope he’s smarter than I was.” 

“Louis!” 

Louis keeps walking. He knows exactly where to go. If Louis knows Harry, he knows the boy has a right temper on him that fizzles out and leaves him remorseful, licking his wounds, and desperately wanting to sort things out.

So he goes home, knowing he’ll find Harry there, waiting for him.

_ When you're lost, I'll find a way, I'll be your light _

_ You'll never feel like you're alone, I'll make this feel like home _

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading (as always).
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment below and let me know what you thought! I love reading your thoughts :)
> 
> \- J xx


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *doesn't post for almost 2 weeks*. Oops.
> 
> Here's the chapter! (Finally). Happy Wednesday! 
> 
> \- J xx

Louis can still remember the first time he thought something was off. Months and months ago. October.

The flat too quiet, too empty. Dylan said he’d be home at five, but Louis got off work early and waited until six, then seven, then half-seven before finally eating without him.

The kitchen, bleak and silent. Louis pushes his chicken and peas around the plate forlornly, ignoring the roast potatoes, his favorite.

It wasn’t until near eleven that his boyfriend unlocked the front door. Dylan strode in, blond hair wet from the rain. He moved quietly, setting his keys aside one the counter and unraveling his scarf to hang on the coat rack.

Louis watched him from the coffee table, wondering if he’d ever be brave enough to ask. Who, when, where, why? This, all of things, wasn’t meant to happen in a relationship like theirs. No, they prided themselves on trust and communication. They’d never had problems like these, thank you very much.

Until now.

Louis can smell it on him, for god sakes, the cologne. It’s not his. Or Dylan’s.

Louis thinks he will cry.

“You said five.” He says hoarsely. “What happened?”

Dylan looks up, startled. His expression is guarded, eyes a little too hard, grip a little too tight on his jacket as he shrugs it off. Louis watches, jaw clenched, as Dylan collects himself. He hangs his coat, arranging the sleeves neatly like it was any other day. Always so poised, even when he was backed into a corner.

“I didn’t leave work till nine. Adam and I were grading papers until half eight.”

Adam. Professor Adam Kaparov, whom Louis had me just once at a university banquet. Tall, with dark hair and thick-framed glasses. Adam had a nice laugh. He was exceedingly polite and rather shy, just like Louis.

Dylan walks to the kitchen counter, and Louis watches as he pulls open the fridge, taking out a bottle of water. He doesn’t look at Louis.

“You didn’t call.”

“My phone is dead,” Dylan holds it up as proof, screen dark and motionless. “I had to stop by the library to pick up analysis readings for class next week. It took me a good hour because the system was down.”

Dylan takes a sip of water, and sets the bottle down, fixing Louis with a perplexed expression. He lets out a hard sigh, and Louis stiffens.

“What?” He asks. “What’s the matter, Lou?”

“You could’ve called from the library,” Louis says tightly, refusing to cry now, not when Dylan was so calm, so foreboding. “I was here waiting for hours. I didn’t know where you were.”

“Lou, what’s the problem here? Do I need to give you a time table? I told you, I was at work.”

“I just wanted to know.”

“I didn’t call because I was busy, Lou. I worked eleven hours today. Eleven. I was exhausted, and I forgot, okay? I’m sorry.”

Louis balks, guilt washing over him as Dylan’s eyes filled with hurt.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know where you were, or who you were with, I-”

The dam breaks.

Dylan’s eyes tighten, going dark. He leans over the counter, gripping the edge so hard that the muscles in his forearms pull taut. Louis hates him like this, unrecognizable, temper flaming hot.

Louis gets burned every time.

“Is that what you think?” He asked, his voice barely a whisper. “That I’m running around with someone else, being unfaithful? Fucking someone who isn’t you?”

“Dylan,” Louis says timidly. “I didn’t say-”

“I give you so fucking much,” Dylan growls. “So fucking much. Day in and day out, paying our bills so you can work at a fucking hair salon. This is what I get, huh? Fucking ridiculous.”

And he stormed off, slamming the door to the bedroom hard enough that Louis knows he should sleep on the couch. Dylan was the most dangerous in these moments, insulted and vulnerable, lashing out in the most unforgiving ways.

No more than an hour later, Dylan would find him on the couch. He’d pull Louis into his lap, smoothing hair back from his forehead, pressing gentle kisses to his skin. Reasoning. Reassuring. Pleading.

“...Just love you so much, you know that, right? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt us, would I?”

Would he?

For so long, Louis put up with it. He grieved the loss of himself, the person he used to be, the moment he fell in love with Dylan. For so long, Louis blamed himself, made excuses, allowed himself to be fucking gaslit and manipulated. For _so_ long. Because Dylan never hit him, did he? Never threatened him. Louis never feared for his life, counted his footsteps, or walked around him on eggshells.

He thought at the time that was a good enough reason to stay.

_Darling, just hold on_

…

It has stopped raining by the time Louis starts walking home. The walk from the bookstore back to his flat feels as though it lasts hours rather than the actual fifteen minutes.

His heart is still pounding from confronting Dylan. When had he ever spoken to him that way?

Every stinging insult, every childish word thrown Dylan’s way had always been over the phone, never in real time, never with Dylan towering over him on the street.

When had he ever stood his ground, raised his voice, taken control when they were face to face? Louis can’t fight off the pride rising in him. The undiluted, pure euphoria of fighting back for the first time against Dylan.

Louis is so overwhelmed, so lost in his thoughts, that he nearly misses his building and keeps on walking. He considers it, for a moment, walking away.

But no, Harry’s face, in his memory. The complete hurt and _bewilderment_ he felt as he watched Harry slam the shop door and head off across the street, pushing past Dylan. That’s what makes him stop in front of the door. It’s what brings his hand to the door.

…

Louis can’t even pull his keys out before Liam opens the door, eyes tight and his expression guarded. He wears a torn dark blue jumper and grey joggers, both clearly thrown on not long ago. Louis peers at him somewhat suspiciously. He normally went back to sleep after Louis left, so why was he up?

“Harry’s here.”

“Good morning to you too,” Louis sighs, now realizing why Liam was up. “Yes, I figured.”

Liam stepped aside to let Louis in, still looking rather nervous.

“He was waiting on the doorstep when I got back from the market,” Liam said by way of explanation. “I couldn’t leave him out in the rain, Lou. He was drenched.”

“Where is he?”

“Sitting room. On the sofa.”

“Right.”

Liam caught Louis by the arm before he could head down the hall, fixing him with a stern, somewhat frantic look.

“He’s torn up, alright? Told me what happened an’ everything. It’s wasn’t the way to react, sure, but he’s pretty upset with himself. He holds himself to some serious standards, that boy.”

“I know.”

“He’s not Dylan,” Liam reminds him quietly, as if Louis could have forgotten. “Go easy.”

…

The first thing Louis notices is that Harry’s hair is down. It’s wet, and his dark curls drip water onto the sofa. He’s got his jumper off, wearing only a soaked black t-shirt. Harry looks strange with his arms and tattoos exposed. Louis has only seen him like this once, back at his flat. His skin glistens with the rainwater, tattoos almost shining.

Then he sees Harry’s eyes, red and swollen. He’d been crying. Louis balks. He’s never seen Harry cry.

Harry watches him as he walks in, not saying anything. His jaw is tight, fists clenched. He’s angry. With himself, Louis, or Dylan, no one can know.

“Hi.” Louis says quietly, not wanting to startle him. The boy seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

“Hi.”

Louis takes off his shoulder bag, stuffing his keys inside and setting it to the ground.

“Are you alright?”

Harry lets out a laugh, though it’s a little forced. Louis’ chest tightens at the sound. When had Harry every struggled to make light of a situation?

“No, Lou. I’m not alrigh’.”

Louis crosses the room cautiously, waiting for Harry to sharply tell him off, or request space. Neither happens. He pulls off his wet jumper, sitting next to Harry on the couch in his own soaking t-shirt. Strange, how he doesn’t feel self-conscious at all next to this other boy.

He’s not Dylan, Liam said. Go easy.

“Can we talk about it?”

Harry exhales sharply, though he relaxes slightly, unclenching his jaw.

“Suppose.”

“I told Dylan to go home.”

“Did you?” Harry asks coldly.

It stings a little, but Louis expected as much.

“I did. I told him to fuck off and get on the next train. I don’t want any part of him, or his excuses, or his manipulative qualities. We were done months ago, or I guess I was. It doesn’t matter how he feels.”

There is a long moment of silence. Louis looks down at his hands, not realizing he’d been clenching his fists. His fingernails have left red half-moon slices on his palms. Louis doesn’t even feel the cuts.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at yeh,” Harry says finally, accent thick with emotion.“It was a dick move, an’ I just got angry, seein’ him there… like he owned you, or summat. Bloody smirk on his face an’ everything. Who does that? Who shows up after cheating on someone months after to ask for a second chance?”

“He doesn’t.” Louis says. “Own me.”

“No,” Harry looks up at Louis, his tone suddenly apologetic. “No, of course not. S’ not what I meant. No one does.”

And then Louis says, faintly, feeling as though he’s jumping from a very tall building-

“...You love me?”

Not quite. Harry had said he was in love with him, so it wasn’t the same thing. But Harry stares at Louis, green eyes wide and unblinking, and nods.

Jesus christ.

“Yeah, Lou. I love you.”

It’s like a free-fall, like having all the air sucked out of your lungs, and Louis relishes it. He takes it in, memorizes this moment.

“When?” He has to clear his throat, it was suddenly closing on him. “When did you know?”

“A very long time ago,” Harry says carefully. “But I didn’t want to push you. You were dealing with a lot of complicated things. You still are.”

“But you knew in the car.”

“Yes,” Harry laughs quietly, a smile pulling at his lips. “I knew in the car.”

“I-I’ve felt the same way for a while,” Louis stammers. “I would’ve said something, but I thought you were straight.”

“I don’t have much of a preference,” Harry says honestly. "An' I think we’re both stubborn. Neither of us like making the first move. It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “We’re both pretty fuckin’ stubborn.”

Another pause.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Harry says, studying him.

“Oh yeah?” Louis counters, surprised he's able to flirt in this moment. “Like you did the other night?”

Harry’s eyes darken slightly.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I thought you were leading me on.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Harry says sincerely. “I got scared.”

“Could’ve told me,” Louis says, embarrassed by the sulking quality of his tone. “I was scared too.”

Harry turns so that he’s facing Louis straight on.

“Are you scared now?”

Louis’s heart is racing at about a million miles an hour. It’s going to pound out of his chest. He can feel his cheeks heating up-

“No.”

Harry grins, dimples showing.

“Good.”

And then, oh _god_, Harry kisses him. He leans forward, still grinning, and kisses him. He tastes like coffee and peppermint, smells like the bookstore, like fresh parchment. These three things are so quintessentially _Harry_ that Louis could nearly cry. Louis deepens the kiss, leaning into him, opening his mouth a little so that Harry can lick into his mouth, biting gently at his bottom lip.

“Do you have,” Harry says, pulling back at last. “Any idea how long I have waited to do that?”

Louis laughs, slightly out of breath.

“I think I can guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annndddd let me know what you thought!
> 
> Love ya,
> 
> \- J xx


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies,
> 
> I sincerely apologize for my irregular posting schedule. I've definitely go too many things on my plate, which is why this is a short chapter. Luckily, holiday break starts this Friday and I'll be uploading more chapters.
> 
> Thank you for reading, thank you for your patience, and stay tuned. 
> 
> \- J xx

It happens quicker than either of them care to admit.

At a certain point, with the tension thrumming between them, eyes wide with a certain lust and desperate need for something,  _ anything _ , any semblance of restraint they’ve built over the past few months crumbles.

And the dam breaks. 

It’s like flipping a switch, like rain after months of drought, like sunlight streaming in through the curtains, and within seconds they’re off the couch and in the hallway. 

Liam, thank God, has the foresight to step outside. If he’s going for a coffee or a walk, Louis isn’t sure. All he knows is that by the time him and Harry are at the top of the stairs, the front door slams shut. 

“Good,” Harry murmurs as they step inside, tugging off his shirt and throwing it aside. “S’ probably for the best, that is.”  
  
“Why’s that?”   
  
“Because-” He says tightly, turning around, towering over Louis. His green eyes have gone completely dark, and his tattoos are on full display. The black swallows on his chest seem to take flight. Louis can feel his pulse thrumming hard and fast in his temples. He’s slightly dizzy now. “-I am going to fuck you until you _scream_.” 

… 

It happens so quickly it’s nearly shameful, and Louis is certain he’d be embarrassed if anyone other than Harry saw him in this way. But as they’re falling back onto Louis’ bed, frantically unbuttoning tops, unzipping trousers, he’d want it no other way. 

It’s fine until reality comes crashing in hard and fast, razing everything to the ground, knocking the wind out of Louis. Harry pulls off the comforter, and Louis is completely exposed on the bare sheets. 

Harry leans down, grazing his teeth gently against Louis neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his skin. It feels good, it does, but all of this is too much, too soon, too  _ real _ \- 

He finds his voice in the midst of the chaos, slightly frightened. 

“Wait!”

Harry freezes. He pulls back, bracing himself with his forearms as he straddles Louis. He looks down at Louis, eyes wide, alarmed. 

“Lou?” He’s slightly out of breath. “What’s wrong?”

“I just - I’m not a virgin!” Louis blurts out. “I’m so fuckin’ awkward, an’ it’s cause I’m nervous, but I’m not a virgin,” He swears, panting a bit. “I promise.”

Harry lets out a quiet laugh, reaching down to push Louis’ hair out of his eyes. He drags the backs of his knuckles across Louis’ flaming cheeks, smiling his stupid, crooked smile. 

“You’re blushing like a virgin,” He says quietly. “An’ I find it  _ incredibly _ sexy.”

“I just, I  _ do _ know what I’m doing.”

“I believe you. But even if you didn’t, I wouldn’t be any less attracted to you. Know tha’? ‘Sides,” Harry chuckles. “ _ I _ know what I’m doing, an’ I’m supposed to take care of  _ you _ .”

“Okay,” Louis exhales slowly, trying to nod, trying to slow his breathing. “Okay.” He says more determined. He wanted this.   
  
“We can go slow, love,” Harry says, and Louis’ eyes widen at the endearment, so casual. “I don’t mind either way. Tell me what you want.” 

Louis’ fingers curl tight around the sheets under him, feeling very small in this moment. 

“...Slow?”  
  
“Yeah, love,” Harry nods, still carding his fingers through Louis’ hair. “I can do that. We can go slow.”  
  
So they do. It’s not a _fuck_, by any standard, no. Louis would probably call it_ making love_, despite his previous hatred of the phrase.

But  _ oh _ , Louis hasn’t had sex like that in years. The slow, deep, kind of sex that brings tears to the corners of your eyes, that leaves you shaking, craving comfort and a tight hug. The kind of sex that makes your heart ache for the person you were, the person you should’ve been years earlier. 

Because Louis didn’t used to show up for anyone, least of all himself. 

… 

Later, when the storm is in full force and the sky goes black, swirling ominously through the window drapes, they lie together in silence. 

Harry’s shirt is still off, and Louis lays on his chest, the boy’s skin slightly damp from sweat. A heavily tattooed forearm rests on Louis’ back, cradling him, protecting him. 

“I’m going to be sore tomorrow.” Louis murmurs. 

Harry nods, deep in thought. 

“I’m sorry,” He says finally, and Louis feels Harry’s fingers rake through his hair. “That was incredible, though.”  
  
“It was.”  
  
And then, even quieter. 

“...Is there no part of you that thinks this is a bad idea?” 

Harry pulls Louis even closer in the dark, and although he can’t quite see, Louis thinks the boy might be smiling that crooked smile again. The same smile he gave Louis all those months ago when he let his ridiculous dog loose in the store. 

“I don’t care.”  
  
“Why not?”

“I’m not scared of love,” Harry says simply. “Are you?”   
  
Louis’ heart is racing about a million miles an hour when he answers:

“No.” 

“Tha’s good,” Harry laughs, and Louis feels his chest move with the force of it. “‘Cause Paul will want to know why we closed the shop at half-ten in the morning.”   
  
Louis turns, presses his face into Harry’s neck, and lets out a whine.

“Fuck me.”  
  
“Hmm, love. I already did that once. Don’ think I have another go in me, t’ be honest.” 

Louis reaches up, thwacking him on the head. Harry cackles gleefully. 

  
“Fuck  _ off _ !” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comment below and let me know what you thought. 
> 
> \- J xx


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my lovelies,
> 
> I'm posting a day early because tomorrow is going to be hectic. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> \- J xx

Harry is gone when Louis wakes up.

The disappointment hits him without warning square in the chest. It is followed with embarrassment, then guilt for feeling embarrassed. 

Louis doesn’t know what he expected. A contrived, one-in-a-million kind of moment that he’d remember for the rest of his life? A lovesick embrace that you saw in indie films, tinged orange and purple from a fading sunset? Or something else, something casual. A transient, spontaneous, nearly meaningless night that they’d never speak of again? He knew it might only be once, yet he’s greedy already, craving more. 

The truth is Louis doesn’t know what ending he wanted, but Harry was gone, and all he feels is cold. All he feels is empty. 

The sheets were bundled on the floor, tangled with Louis’ jumper and trousers, an afterthought of the night before.

_ I don’t need my love, you can take it, you can take it. _

_ I don’t need my heart, you can break it, you can break it. _

… 

Nursing a wounded ego, Louis moves gingerly down the stairs. His entire body was sore, muscles pulled tight after months of not being used in that way. It brings darker memories to the surface, of Dylan, and of nights he wished he could forget. 

Louis expects to see Liam sitting at their coffee table spooning frosties into his mouth, half-asleep, a friendly face that could commiserate, but the coffee table is empty. 

_ Oh.  _

He’s not even wearing a shirt. His back is to Louis as he stands at the stove, tattoos on full display. Harry hasn’t left. He’s making breakfast. 

_ When you’re lost, I’ll find a way, I’ll be your light.  _

_ You’ll never feel like you’re alone…  _

Louis watches him for a quiet moment, frozen on the stairs. 

He’s expertly cracking eggs and frothing them in a bowl. He whisks them vigorously, with the comfortable motion of someone who does this often, pausing only to add salt and pepper before pouring the mixture into a sizzling pan. Harry adds something else that Louis can’t see, and a spicy, fragrant aroma fills the kitchen. Basil, oregano, and chili powder. He adds a handful of cheese, starting to scramble the mixture, and Louis’ knees nearly give out from the smell. God, he was  _ so _ hungry. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning before heading to the shop, though that feels like years ago now. 

“That smells...  _ amazing _ .” 

Harry turns around suddenly in surprise. He squints up at Louis through swollen, sleepy eyes, and then grins crookedly. His hair is tangled beyond recognition, and Louis feels a surge of triumph. So he didn’t look perfect  _ all _ the time, did he? 

“Mornin’, creep. How long have you been standing there?”  
  
“Not long,” Louis laughs. “I thought you’d left, to be honest.”  
  


Harry’s smile fades, his eyes flashing with hurt. 

  
“Of course not. C’mon down, now. You should eat breakfast before work.” 

Louis heads down the stairs and walks over to Harry. Boldly, he wraps his arms around the bigger man, pressing his forehead against Harry’s bare back. His skin is cool and he feels Harry exhale, relaxing. 

Harry’s free hand comes up, lacing their fingers together. 

“So. How was last night? You fell asleep before I could ask.”   
  
“Incredible,” Louis says. “Do you even have to ask?”  
  
Harry pulls back for a second to turn down the stove burner, and Louis moves with him, not letting go. 

“You’re quiet cuddly. Are you sore?”   
  
“Very.” Louis mumbles, and then laughs again, embarrassed. He turns to rest his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, watching him scramble the eggs. 

“Worth it?”   
  
Louis rolls his eyes. Harry already knows the answer.

“Worth it.” 

….

The morning passes quickly, with Harry and Louis scarcely breaking eye contact as they eat their eggs in silence. It was uncanny, the electric pulse between them. Louis hasn’t felt such a strong connection before, the silent yet palpable current running through his veins. He doesn’t know how he’s missed it all this time, while they went for coffee, or restocked shelves, or wiped down the windows. 

All this time, after months of working five feet apart, they’re finally in sync. Louis feels like he’s flying, like he’s jumped without a second thought from the highest height, soaring into the unknown.

It’s exhilarating like nothing else. 

….

Liam is awake by half eight and shuffles downstairs to stare blankly at Louis and Harry. 

“Right.” He sighed, as though he’d expected nothing else, which he probably hadn’t. “Mornin’ then.”  
  
“Morning,” The two of them echo awkwardly. 

“Sleep well?” Harry asks.   
  
“Could’ve been better.” Liam says, and then states bluntly, “Not a quiet pair, are you?”  
  
“Liam!” Louis says sharply, though he breaks into laughter almost immediately, and Harry follows. “Don’t be rude.”

  
Liam waves them off, heading into the kitchen to rifle through the cabinets. Harry reaches up to thumb across Louis’ cheek, and Louis looks up at him, perplexed. He smiles. 

“You’re blushing. Love it when you do that. Never told you, but I do.”   
  
And Louis thinks,  _ I could love everything about you if you give me the chance.  _

Liam slams a cupboard shut, and then break apart, embarrassed. 

“Louis, why don’t you go take a shower?”   
  
Louis turns around to look at his friend, incredulous.

“What?”  
  
“Why don’t you go and take a shower,” Liam suggests, his eyes narrowing and his tone insinuating that this was not up for discussion. “Harold and I are going to have a little chat.”  
  
This only angers Louis more.

“Are you taking the  _ piss _ ? What kind of-”   
  


But Harry’s hand moves across the table, easily covering Louis’. He looks down at the dark cross etched permanently on Harry’s hand, and forces himself to take in a deep breath.

“It’s fine,” Harry murmurs.

“But-”  
  
“Love,” Harry levels. “I promise it’s fine. Go upstairs. I’ll be right here.” 

Louis stands, making a point to shove past Liam roughly as he heads for the stairs, taking them by two to the landing. The bathroom door slams shut roughly, and Liam and Harry wince at the noise. 

“Wonderful.” Liam says bitterly. “That’s definitely the way I wanted to start the morning.”    
  
Harry looks up wearily at the other man, already finding that his patience was wearing thin. Liam is slicing a loaf of bread like nothing out of the ordinary has happened, lathering it with butter and strawberry jam. His nonchalance is irritating.    
  


“If you’re going to tell me not to break his heart-”  
  
“No, I’m fucking not. That’s the least of my worries,” Liam says sharply, cutting Harry off. “You’re a smart lad. You know as well as I do that out of all people, Louis doesn’t deserve any more heartbreak. That boy has been through more than either of us will go through in a lifetime.”

Gone was the friendly flatmate Harry had met yesterday, the man that made him a cup of tea while he sat shaking on the couch, eyes still swollen from crying. Gone was the sympathetic listener. Liam now stood as the protective best friend, unwilling to let anyone break through his defense lest they hurt Louis. Harry understands, but that doesn’t make this conversation any easier.   
  
“I understand that.”  
  


Liam ignores him, beginning to butter another slice of bread. 

  
“You don’t. You’ve known him for less than two months.”   
  
Harry looks at the upstairs bathroom. The door was still closed. What if Louis heard this? What if he had one ear pressed against the door? Somehow, Harry’s willing to take the risk. He leans forward, lacing his fingers together, humoring Liam. 

“So tell me. Tell me what I need to know.”   
  
Liam sets his jaw, regarding the younger man for a tense, quiet moment. He nods shortly, setting the butter knife down, leaning across the counter. 

“His mother died.”  
  
“Yes,” Harry nods. “Jay.”  
  
“She left behind Dan, Louis’ stepdad, and their six children. Louis is the eldest, which leaves him a massive, unfair, unspoken responsibility. He feels like he’s meant to replace Jay. He isn’t.”  
  
Harry thinks back to the day at Dan’s, remembers how Louis treated his younger sisters. It was like watching a parent with their newborn child. He held them so close, like he was afraid they’d shatter if he let Phoebe or Daisy out of his sight. It was humbling at the time, but now it saddens Harry. 

“His father, not Dan, left when Louis was young. A real piece of work if you ask me,” Liam continues, his tone growing noticeably sharper. “And then Dylan, whom you’ve already met.”   
  
The reaction is uncanny. Harry sits straighter, looking directly at Liam. A mutual understanding is shared between both of them:  _ protect Louis from this man.  _

“Yes.”  
  
“He’s manipulative and bitter. He does not get angry. He gets even.”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“And as for Louis,” Liam’s tone lowers significantly, and Harry has to lean in close to hear what he says. “He hasn’t been happy like this in months.” Liam says quietly. “_Months_, Harry. He sank into a depression so deep after leaving London that Bebe came and fetched me to pull him out of it. And I’m not known for being successful with these kind of things. Louis has a habit of digging himself into a hole and refusing any helping hand.”  
  


Harry cuts another glance to the stairs. The bathroom door was still closed. He relaxes slightly when he hears the shower going. 

  
“He feels safe around you, I can tell. That’s _so _bloody important.” Liam strikes the counter tile for emphasis. “If you fuck that up, if you play with him and make him regret trusting you, if you break his heart, I will fucking kill you, Harry.”

“I give you my word.” 

“Doesn’t matter what you give to me,” Liam says stiffly, going back to his toast. “Everything you have goes to Louis. You make that promise to him, and no one else.”    
  


Silently, Harry swears that he will. 

_ Could we ever be enough? Baby, we could be enough.  _

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below and let me know what you thought. :)
> 
> \- J xx


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually sticking to my plan and posting again! 
> 
> Enjoy, and happy Sunday. :) 
> 
> \- J xx

Louis is toweling his hair dry when Harry knocks on the door. 

“It’s open.”    
  
The older boy pokes his head through, looking apologetic. 

“You alright?”   
  
Louis looks at him through the fogged mirror, and smiles thinly. Harry’s seen this expression on him before, the one he makes a half hour before closing when a customer has a complicated request. It’s his scotch-tape smile. 

“Fine. Liam can be a real dick, s’ all.”

Harry steps inside, closing the door behind him. He’s engulfed by the leftover shower steam, and can smell Louis’ shampoo from where he stands. It’s floral, and a little lemony. It takes him back to last night, a time that seemed a lot simpler than the one they live in now. 

“I don’t suppose it’ll make you feel better if I say he cares about you a lot?”  
  
“Oh, I know he does,” Louis tosses the towel aside, reaching for a container of hair gel on the counter. He twists it open, dipping his fingers into the product. “That doesn’t make him any less of a dick.”   
  
Harry watches as Louis expertly styles his hair in under a minute, pushing his fringe out of his eyes and twisting it up artfully. 

“You’re good at that.”  
  
“Well, I was a bloody hairstylist for years, so I hope so.” 

“Lou.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Louis says tightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror, managing another smile. “I’ll get over it. We should go, though. We’re gonna be late.” 

Somehow, Harry anticipates that being late is the least of their worries. Paul was back from Paris today. 

God help them. 

… 

Louis spent the walk from his flat to the store looking for Dylan at every street corner. He half-expected the man to surprise him again with a crazed, wild look in his eyes. He’d frightened Louis yesterday. His nonchalance, the casual way he asked for another chance, it was eerie. He hadn’t ever viewed Dylan that way, as dangerous. It was like any remnant of their relationship, any of the good memories Louis still held onto, was ripped from him.

It left Louis with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, even walking next to Harry, who towered over him. It was easy to feel safe with Harry, who took Louis’ hand in his after they’d walked two blocks together. Louis looked up at him, and Harry simply grinning, squeezed his hand gently. Louis secretly relished the look of them together, his small hand against Harry’s large, tattooed, and ring-clad one. 

Louis was wearing Harry’s shirt from the other night, the one they’d hung out to dry on his dresser. A red, floral hawaiian shirt that he thought would look ridiculous on him, but it doesn’t. 

“It brings out the blue in your eyes.” Harry told him as they were getting changed. “Take it.” 

Louis asked him on their walk where Eva was, and he laughed. 

“I swear I don’ just leave her locked in a closet, or summat.” He shakes his head, grinning. “No, she’s with a few friends. Glenne and Jeff, they live on my floor. They’ll watch her until tonight.”   


“And Cassidy?”  
  
“Cass is with my sister. She’s staying at my flat for the week, an’ then going on to visit my Mum.”

Louis felt a surge of warmth at the mention of Harry’s sister. It was nice to be reminded of a common element between them, it was easy to point out all of their differences, but their relationship with their family was a constant. 

“You should come over soon an’ meet her,” Harry says as they round a corner. “She’d love to see you.”  
  
“Of course,” Louis said on instinct, and then realized he wouldn't know how to introduce himself. “Have we… um, decided what we’re going to call this?”  
  
Harry slows his pace for a moment, cutting a glance at Louis, amused. 

“This?”   
  


“We’ve gone from zero to one hundred in the past twenty-four hours, H, we’re not exactly co-workers anymore.”   
  
Harry chuckles quietly. 

“I suppose not. What would you like to call this? Us?”

Louis’ breath catches. Us?

“How do you feel about… boyfriend?” Louis nearly cringes from saying it. “I just - we’ve known each other too long to say something else. Or, if labels are too weird-”  
  
“Boyfriend is absolutely fine, Lou. I’d love to be called that.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

“We’re going a little fast,” Harry comments. “And I want you to know that we can slow down at any time. You’re right, it went from all to nothing very quickly.”   
  
“It’s not too fast.”  
  
Harry squeezes his hand again as they come up on the last block. 

  
“We’ve done all the steps in the wrong order, haven’t we? It’s normally first kiss, first date, and then you sleep together. We’ve done one and three already.”  
  
As if Louis could forget. 

“Hang the rules. We’ll do the first tomorrow night. We’ll go out.” 

“Yeah?” Harry’s eyes light up. “I’d love that.” 

…. 

At first glance, nothing is out of the ordinary when the two men reach the storefront. The sign is still turned to  _ Closed _ and the front door is locked. Somehow, Louis had managed to lock up yesterday even in the midst of the chaos. It feels like ages ago now. 

“I’ve got it,” Louis said, producing a ring of keys from his coat pocket and quickly unlocking the front door. “There we are.”

He steps inside, Harry close behind, and flicks on the lights. Everything was just the way they’d left it, rows of bookshelves polished and orderly, the register closed and locked, the storage closet shut. Louis sees the book he’d dropped by the storefront window, and feels slightly nauseous. A remnant of total and utter shock. Harry’s terse words still ring clear in his ears. 

_ Christ. I’m not a fucking homophobe, Louis, I’m in love with you.  _

Harry, who just a few feet away from him, was whistling as he opened the blinds, letting sunlight stream into the store. A strange, kind, wonderful man who not long ago nearly unleashed chaos when he let his ridiculous dog loose in the store. A strange, kind, wonderful man who  _ loves _ him.    
  
Every time Louis thinks about saying it back he is met with an overwhelming sense of fear, of wondering if he’s good enough. The scars Dylan left him, though he’d never admit it aloud, were lasting and deep. It was going to take some time to come to terms with that and learn to love himself before he could love someone else. He hopes Harry can understand that. 

“Lou,” Harry calls. “He’s coming.”   
  
Louis looks up and out the front window, swallowing hard when he sees the owner rounding the corner and heading for the steps. Paul looked rather serious already. This was not going to go well. 

“Christ. He’ll be so mad, Harry.”  
  
“Alright, let’s wait and see,” Harry soothes, already stocking the shelves like nothing is out of the ordinary. “You don’t know that.” 

“I don’t know a lot of things,” Louis says darkly. “That doesn’t mean they stop happening.”   
  
Harry snickers, leaning forward to switch the sign to  _ Open _ . Each of them brace for catastrophic fallout, but Paul smiles wide at both of them as he pulls the door open, like he’s heard a secret and unwilling to share it with anyone else. 

“Good morning!”   
  
Even Harry looks perplexed, fixing his name tag to his shirt. 

“Ta. How was the conference?” 

“Thesis defense,” Paul corrected merrily. “It was excellent, thank you for asking. Sorbonne is such a beautiful university”   
  
Louis exhales shakily, deciding that honesty was the best policy. Harry’s eyes widen from across the room as Louis steps in front of Paul.

“We need to tell you something.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve already heard.”  
  
Harry nearly drops the stack of books he’s holding.

“...You have?”  
  
“Under any other circumstances, I’d be livid. But the two of you are good lads, an’ I understand. Things happen.”  
  
“You do?” Louis asked meekly, and adds, “It won’t happen again.”

The storeowner gave him a strange look, and then laughed. 

“Love does funny things to people, Louis. I’m just glad you lot have it figured out. I couldn’t take more of the dancing around, unwilling-to-say-it-first nonsense.”   
  
Behind Paul, Harry is stifling a laugh, trying his hardest to maintain composure. Louis goes beet-red, and settles for a short nod. 

“Right. Thanks.”  
  
“If my husband has taught me anything,” Paul continues. “It’s that being brave is the first step, and the hardest one to take.”  
  
_Wham. _Harry drops the stack of books he’d been holding, mouth agape. 

“You’re  _ married _ ?”

“You’re  _ gay _ ?” Louis cries out at the same time. 

“Oh, christ. Both of you look ridiculous with your mouths open like that,” Paul walks away from them towards his office, pulling his spectacles out of his shirt pocket to polish them with his shirtsleeve. “Yes to both. Roger and I have been together for nearly twenty-seven years, not that anyone’s ever cared to ask, mind you.”

The door to his office slams shut, and Louis and Harry look at each other, speechless. 

“Did that… just happen?”    
  
Harry bends down to pick up the books he’d dropped, shaking his head, curls falling into his eyes. Louis walks over and crouches next to him, picking up the various novels. 

“Fuck if I know.”

“Do you think he has kids?”  
  
“Probably,” Harry barks out a laugh, throwing his head back like a little kid. “And they’re probably fluent in French and Italian.”  
  
Louis giggles at the thought, and Harry looks at him, his eyes lighting up. 

“God. You have the prettiest laugh.”   
  


And Louis turns and kisses him, tasting coffee and his smile. 

Paul’s stern voice cuts through the quiet shop. 

  
“S’ enough of tha’! Back to work!”   
  
… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment if you enjoyed. 
> 
> \- J xx


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while... school really fucks over my posting schedule. Sorry guys. 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- J xx

Despite Paul’s shocking reveal, it’s a slow day for the bookstore. The three of them pass the time by restocking shelves, unboxing shipments, and making conversation. Heavy boxes are lifted from the store closet and brought to the front of the store. They’re stacked unevenly, a leaning tower of Plath’s. 

Paul joined them after a while, busying himself with organizing all vintage copies alphabetically.

Louis reached for an Austen copy in a shelf above him, noticing it wasn’t correctly ordered. He came up short by half a foot. Behind him, Harry chuckled quietly, reached up, and grabbed it for him. 

“Thanks.”   
  


Holding the Austen, Louis takes a step back. He studies the sheer amount of books, magazines, and postcards in front of him. To his left, the display case is stuffed with first-edition copies. It was easy to go through a shift with your head down, drowning in the flow of the work day and not really pay attention. Slow, quiet mornings like this gave him a different perspective, they reminded him how massive the store was. He feels slightly overwhelmed.    
  


Louis then realizes that he’s been spacing out for a good minute, and Harry’s staring. He blinks, and looks down at the Austen copy.  _ Emma _ . He’d never heard of it. 

“How long d’ you think it would take to read all the books in this store?”    
  
Before Harry can answer, Paul’s poking his head around the corner of the vintage shelf. 

“It took me over a decade.”   
  
Louis guffawed at him. 

“You’re not serious.”  
  
“Deadly,” Paul says. “Most of them were classics I read when I was younger, so it doesn’t quite count.”  
  
Harry beamed at him, sliding another copy into the shelf above him. 

“Fuck. That’s incredible.”

“I could never do that.” Louis laments. 

“It helps when you love what you read,” Paul winks at him. “You just need to find a really good book, Lou. That’ll convert you.” 

“He’s right” Harry agrees. “I’ll find you one. Who’s your favorite author?”   
  
_ Oh _ . Louis looks at his feet, suddenly embarrassed.

“Um, I don’t really read.”   


Harry is taken aback. 

“You don’t read.”

  
“No, not really. I don’t have the time.” Louis toed at the floor with his shoe, suddenly eager to change the subject. “Who’s your favorite author?”  
  
“Murakami,” Harry answered distractedly, his green eyes hardening. “Louis, you work in a bookstore. You don’t _read_?”

_ Murakami. _ It sounded Japanese. Louis wasn’t even surprised. Harry seemed like to type to wander vintage shops and thrift stores in Tokyo, his hair tied up in a ridiculous silk scarf, no doubt. 

“Why d’ you think I look bored out of my mind all shift?” 

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“You can’t be serious, Louis. How do you give customers recommendations?”   
  


Louis has to think about it. 

  
“I mean, if they offer two choices, I just pick the one I’ve heard of before.”  
  
“Oh my god.”  
  
“What?” He laughs. “Not everyone likes to read, mate.” 

Harry’s head snaps up at the mention of “mate”, his grin growing wicked. 

“Oh, I think I can change that,  _ love _ .” 

Paul is wise to leave the discussion at that, and goes back to his restocking. Harry and Louis hold each other's gaze for another moment, and then dissolve into a fit of giggles. 

“I really am going to change your mind.” Harry says, handing Louis another box of copies. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Louis replies. 

…

Hours later, Louis and Harry have sent off the last few customers with several books each and even more recommendations. Louis lets out a long sigh, reaching his arms above his head to stretch. His back and shoulders were aching from having worked the till and restocked the shelves. He needed a hot shower and some food. 

Harry’s busy counting their profit for the day, making quick work with the small bills and coins. Louis catches his eye and Harry stares back at him. His smile is there, but his eyes are tired. He’s as exhausted as Louis. 

Paul comes out of his study, looking chuffed with himself. 

“I found my calendar!”   
  
In his hand is a leather-bound journal that looks ancient. Louis takes a closer look and sees a thin layer of dust on the cover. 

“Christ, Paul,” He laughs. “How long has that been hidden? Since ‘92?”  
  
“Oh, I’d be surprised if it was only ‘92,” Paul joked. “I’ve been looking for it for a while, though. Must’ve lost it last winter.”  
  
“You need to organize your desk.” Louis suggests. “Or maybe get a set of drawers so that you can actually _see_ your desk.”  
  
Paul isn’t listening, instead flipping back through the pages to February. He gasps. 

“Harry, don’t tell me I forgot your birthday!”   
  


Harry doesn’t even look up from the till, still counting through the bills and placing them into their lockbox.

“It’s fine, Paul. I’m sure I’ll make it until the next one.”    
  


Ignoring Harry’s morbid joke, Louis looks between his boss and boyfriend. 

“Wait, when is your birthday?” 

“The first of February,” Harry answered.

“We should celebrate.” Paul says brightly. 

“_Paul_.” Harry says tiredly. “Come off it.”  
  
“No chance,” Paul says. “It’s my fault that I missed it, an’ I intend to follow through. Like a son to me, aren’t you? I’ve known yeh since yeh was a lad.” 

“Wait, how old are you?” Louis prods.   
  
“Twenty-five.”   
  
“I’m _two_ years older than you?”  
  
“Louis,” Harry sighs, clearly exasperated. It had been a long shift. “Does it really matter?” 

“Well, you act like you’re like seventy-two, so, yeah.” 

“Hazza,” Paul says, and Harry blushes redder than Louis has ever seen at the nickname. “If no one else will bake you a birthday cake, I will.” 

“Please, god no. I’d die from food poisoning.” 

“Then you’d better,” Paul says to Louis. “Seems only right.”

Harry rolls his eyes.

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t have to, Louis.” 

They close the shop not fifteen minutes later, bundling up in coats and gloves and bidding Paul goodnight. Harry and Louis set off down the street hand in hand, parting ways when they reach the river. 

…

And that is exactly how Louis found himself back home in the kitchen, covered in flour, icing sugar, and cinnamon. 

“Oh, christ,” Liam winced, walking in unaware. “Tommo,  _ what _ are you doing?” 

“Baking a cake.”  
  
“So he’s the one, then.”  
  
Louis glared at him, adding more sugar to the mix. 

“Fuck off.”  
  
“Suppose that’s what I get for hounding him and banishing you to the shower,” Liam shrugs, and takes a sip from the mug of tea he’s holding. “I can live with that.” 

“He’s a good guy, Li,” Louis says. “He is.”  
  
“I’m starting to believe it.” 

… 

Louis is not one for spontaneity, but when Harry answers the door, the look on his face is worth it. 

“...Lou?”   
  
Louis holds out the cake in his hands as a means of explanation. Harry nearly rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, jesus christ. Don’t tell me Paul got to you.”  
  
“Happy belated birthday,” Louis says, ignoring him. “This may or may not be fully cooked. I never worked in a bakery, so reserve your judgement.” 

“What’s under the icing?” 

“Chocolate cake.”  
  
“Thank god,” Harry’s shoulders deflate. “I’d have a problem if you chose vanilla over chocolate too.”  
  
“Too?” Louis teases.

“Well, you don’t like coffee, an’ you don’t like to read, so you’re lucky I’ve even stuck around at all.”

“Definitely counting my blessings over here.”   
  
Harry steps away from the doorframe to let Louis inside and he gratefully moves into the heated flat. 

“Gem?” Harry calls. “Hey, come and meet Louis.”   
  
Gem. As in  _ Gemma _ . As in Harry’s  _ sister _ . Louis doesn’t have time to panic because a tall, brunette woman appears from the living room. Louis’ anxiety fades the second he sees she’s smiling. She has Harry’s endearing, crooked grin. He also is amused to see that Gemma’s sense of style is muted compared to Harry’s. She wears cream trousers and a gray jumper, complimenting her eyes, while Harry wears ripped skinny jeans and yet another floral shirt. 

“Hiya,” She offers a hand and Louis has to shift the cake box to his other arm to shake it. “Nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
  
“You as well,” Louis nods. He’s slightly taken aback by her Northern accent. It’s thicker than Harry’s. “It’s nice to meet you. Harry says you’re a journalist?”  
  
“I am, yes,” She nods. “I’ve been working in London for the past four years now, but it’s mostly freelance at the moment.”  
  
“Ah.”

“Gem,” Harry calls from the kitchen. He’s retreated there to give them some space. “Is Eva down for a nap?”  
  
“Yeah, she was exhausted.”   
  


At this point, Gemma notices the slightly squashed cake box in Louis’ hand. 

“You baked my brother a cake?” Asks Gemma, her eyes lighting up.

Louis looks down at the mess of icing and sinking candles. It wasn’t exactly a  _ cake _ so much as a  _ soup _ . 

“...I tried to?”   
  


Gemma nods, satisfied. 

  
“He can stay,” She calls over his shoulder to Harry. “I like him.”

Louis turns to see the tips of Harry’s ears go red.

“Thanks, Gem. I mean, it is  _ my _ flat. Lou, would you like to stay for dinner? Gemma’s cooking.”

“I’d love to, thanks.” 

“He’s brought home some awful ones,” Gemma says, shifting her attention back to Louis. “Even girls, though none of them were as good looking as you.”

“Oh,” Louis laughs nervously. “Well that’s-”   
  
Sensing the tension, Harry quickly jumps in to unravel it.

“Lou and I are gonna go for a walk, we’ll be back before dinner.”   
  
Gemma looks slightly disappointed. She clearly was ready to hound Louis for all the details, but she raises her hands in mock defeat, resigned. 

“All right. You’d better. I’m not a housewife, y’ know. I’ll probably burn that anyway.”

Louis turns at the mention of “that” to see a bubbling pot on the stove. It actually smelled delicious, spicy and fragrant, some kind of vegetable stew.   
  
“Sounds delicious,” Harry says, and hastily takes Louis’ hand as he heads for the door. “Ta!” 

…

The air has a startling bite to it, and Louis wishes spring would make up its damn mind. They were nearing April already and he had to keep on his bloody jumper for an evening stroll. 

Harry studies him for a moment. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to guess?”   
  
Louis exhales slowly.  _ Fuck _ . 

“I’m not very good at hiding things, am I?”  
  
“Nope,” Harry says, popping the “p”.

“I guess I’ve been feeling a little guilty.”   
  
Harry looks at him, perplexed. 

“How so?”  
  
“You understand that what happened with Dylan and I, like, fucked me up badly?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And, when we were together,” Louis says. “And tell me if this makes you uncomfortable and I won’t talk about him anymore-”  
  
“Louis, you can always be honest with me.”  
  
Louis nods, the tight feeling in his chest started to recede. 

“Well, it took me a really long time to open up to him. He’s older than me, and when we met he was already about to graduate from Uni and I had just started. When we started dating before I dropped out, I was really young and vulnerable and…” Louis cringes. “inexperienced. And I didn’t tell him I loved him for like… six months.”   
  
Harry slows his pace, starting to understand. 

“And you feel guilty because you think the same thing is happening.”  
  
“Because you said that you loved me, and I haven’t said it back yet.” Louis finishes lamely, hanging his head. 

Harry nods, tucking his lip between his teeth in thought. 

“Lou,” Harry says after a moment. “If I’ve made you feel that you need to say that back in any way, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel rushed at all.”  
  
“No, you didn’t. I just… feel guilty.”  
  
“You shouldn’t.” Harry looks genuinely concerned. “No one has a say over your feelings but you.”  
  
“Doesn’t it hurt _your_ feelings though?”  
  
“Not in the slightest,” He shakes his head. “I know that you care about me, Lou. That’s enough for me.”  
  
Louis nods, still unconvinced. 

“And I don’t want you saying anything until you’re ready. I’ll survive, love.” 

“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
Louis decides he’s not ready to say it out loud, not yet, but as they round the block and head back for Harry’s flat, Louis gives the best he can and squeezes Harry’s hand. 

1, 2, 3. 

I Love You

Harry pulls him into a kiss then and there in the middle of the street.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment below if you enjoyed it, I love hearing from you guys.
> 
> Happy holidays,
> 
> \- J xx


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday break. I took some time off to hang out with family, but now I'm back :)
> 
> You guys are so patient. I really appreciate it. 
> 
> \- J xx

When Harry and Louis return, Gemma is busy in the kitchen. She’s wiping down the countertops and placing spices back in the cupboard, her cheeks slightly rosy from cooking. 

“Hi,” She greets them quietly, and jerks her head to the hallway. “Eva’s still sleeping.” 

“I think she was pretty knackered after spending the day at Glenne’s.” Harry says. “Can we do anything to help?”

“Set the table?”  
  
“You got it.”

Louis envies the homely atmosphere of Harry’s place, something his own flat sorely lacked. Liam had tried his best when he moved in, adding potted plants in window sills and hanging a few pictures, but there was a lasting loneliness they couldn’t shake. 

Grief. It’s what both of them were too frightened to admit. It was his grief that cast such a long shadow, the reason why he couldn’t quite feel the warmth of the sun even with it streaming through the curtains. 

Here, every surface is tinged orange from the setting sun. The photographs on the walls practically glow, and the bookshelf in the sitting room stands proud, brimming with enough novels to make Paul swoon. Louis feels safe here, with Harry.    
  


Harry pulls out placemats, bowls, and spoons. Together, they set the slightly dented coffee table for dinner. 

“Eva ran into it with her scooter,” Harry explains, tracing the mark with a sort of fondness. “She scared the hell out of me. That was the first time she really hurt herself. When I heard her cry, m’ heart nearly fell out of my chest.” 

Louis sets each place with a spoon, trying to picture Harry truly frightened. 

“When Lottie was five,” He says. “She fell off a swing-set and sprained her ankle. I’d never seen my Mum so scared. She got pregnant with the twins a month later, an’ that pretty much blew it out of the water.” 

Harry laughs, and Louis finds himself grinning at the memory. He realizes with a start that it’s the first time he’s mentioned Jay aloud in months. 

_ Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong? That you make me strong. _

… 

Gemma is as humble as her brother, and just as incredible at cooking. The soup - a spicy bisque with shrimp and vegetables - was delicious. Louis and Harry both ate two bowls, and downed half a dozen glasses of water between them, but it was worth it. 

Later, when their eyes are streaming and their throats are sore, they start sharing embarrassing stories. Harry is halfway through a dramatic retelling of the time he spoiled his mother’s surprise birthday present when Eva’s voice rings out through the flat. 

“ _ Daddy _ !”

Harry trails off mid-sentence. He stands quickly, throwing his napkin aside.

“I’ll be right back.” He calls, heading down the hall.

Louis has only seen Harry in this environment a few times, but he’s always stunned by the fervor with which Harry cares for his daughter. With Harry gone, a silence settles over the dining table. Louis looks at Gemma, unsure of what to say. 

“He’s…” 

“A bit whipped?” Gemma lets out a short laugh, picking up her water glass. “You can say it. He knows.” 

  
  
“I was going to say devoted,” Louis concedes. “She’s young. When kids are little you always come running. That’s how I am with my siblings.” 

“Right. Harry told me about your sisters. Five?” Gemma whistles. “That’s a lot. My little cousins already drive me crazy, and they’re in their twenties.” 

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs. “Guess I just got used to it.”

  
  
“Survival of the fittest.” Gemma snickers, taking a sip of water. “I’ve been there.” 

Louis barks out a laugh. “Yeah, summat like that.” 

“I suppose we should make sure everything’s alright.” 

  
  
Gemma rises from the table, looking expectantly at Louis. 

Louis realizes she’s inviting him with her,  _ oh _ , she’s letting him know this is okay. So he follows dutifully, heading down the hall.

Eva’s door is open. Louis follows Gemma inside. There’s no doubt about it that this is a three-year-old girl’s bedroom. The walls are a light blue, and someone’s painted fluffy clouds on them. There are stuffed animals on the floor, a mini painting set next to the window, and stick figure drawings that look identical to the ones plastered on Ernie and Dorris’s room. 

Harry’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, cradling Eva in his arms. Louis realizes she’s crying, her small frame shaking with sobs. She’s got her face pressed into Harry's chest, her arms wrapped tight around his neck. 

“She had a nightmare,” Harry says hoarsely, and begins to rock his daughter gently. “I think she’s got a fever.” 

“Oh, the poor love,” Gemma coos. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

Gemma disappears down the hall. Louis goes to Harry, sitting next to him. 

Eva’s tiny sobs go straight to his heart, reminding him of Phoebe. Not long ago, he was in this same position. He held his sister on the floor while she cried her heart out, holding tight, as if she was afraid he’d let go of her.  _ Maybe she was, _ Louis thinks miserably. 

“What can I do?”

“Nothing much,” Harry winces as Eva lets out a particularly sharp sob. “She’ll be upset for a little while, s’ best to just let her cry it out. I’ll need to give her Benadryl in a bit.” 

  
  
“Do you want me to go?”   
  


Harry’s eyes widen slightly, and his rocking of Eva slows. In that moment, with Harry’s hair tied up in a haphazard bun, cradling his daughter to his chest, completely terrified at the prospect of being left alone, Louis knows he’s in love. He’s in love with this ridiculous man, and his headscarves, and his singing, and the way he comforts his little girl - a little girl who not long ago didn’t even have a father. 

_ Fuck.  _

“No. I really don’t, but if you need to get back-”

  
  
Louis leans forward, cutting Harry off mid-sentence with a kiss to quell his fears. 

“I’m not going anywhere. If you want me here, I’ll stay right here.” 

“Thank you, love," Harry says quietly, and then adds fiercely. “We’re gonna eat the _fuck_ out of that cake tomorrow.”   
  


Louis chuckles. 

“Yes, we are.” 

Gemma returns a moment later with some wet washcloths, a sippy cup, and a bottle of Lucozade. Harry quickly empties the Lucozade into the cup, coaxing Eva to open her mouth and take a few sips. Gemma wets Eva’s hairline and chest with the washcloths, trying to cool her down. 

“Gonna have a kip with Daddy now, alright?” Harry tells Eva, rising easily with the little girl in his arms. “I’ll sit with her on the sofa for a bit,” He tells Gemma, already bouncing the toddler in his arms, hoping to soothe her. “You should go, Gem, Michal will be waiting.”

Suddenly, Gemma looks guilty. 

“He’s been calling me, but I can tell him I’m staying-”

“Gem,” Harry levels. “Go, it’s alright.”

Louis can tell Gemma thinks it isn’t, but she kisses her brother goodbye all the same, leaning down to tuck a loose curl behind Eva’s ear. 

“Feel better, sweet girl.” She looks up at Harry. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”   
  


… 

Gemma is pulling on her coat at the door when Louis catches her, offering his hand. 

“It was so nice to meet you.”

  
  
Gemma scoffs at his hand, pulling him into a bear hug that would make her brother proud. 

“I know that we don’t know each other very well,” Gemma says when they pull away. “But I wanted to thank you for making my brother so happy.” She lowers her voice, and Louis leans in. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I haven’t seen him like this since before Emma died. All he talks about is you.” 

“I… I really needed to hear that,” Louis admits. “Thank you, Gemma.” 

  
“People assume,” Gemma says a little bitterly. “That he’s  _ trouble _ because he’s got a three-year-old daughter. Whom he adores, by the way, and whom he would die for. They don’t know the half of it. I can tell you really see him.”   
  


They both look back at Harry, who’s bouncing Eva on his knee in the sitting room. Somehow, Eva’s giggling, shrieking in delight, and Louis’ heart swells when he sees the sheer adoration in Harry’s eyes. Any father who can bring his child from tears to giggles in seconds is a good father, Louis knows that much. 

“He’s a good man,” Louis says, turning back to her. “I feel incredibly lucky to be with him.”    
  


Gemma pulls open the door. 

  
“I’m starting to really like you, Tomlinson,” She heads for the building stairs. “Don’t fuck this up!”   
  


Silently, Louis promises that he won’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed it :)
> 
> \- J xx


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> Happy New Year! I hope everyone is having a wonderful Tuesday. 
> 
> \- J xx

To Harry’s relief, Eva falls back to sleep only ten minutes after Gemma leaves. Louis clears the table and starts on the washing up while Harry puts his daughter back to bed. 

Louis pulls out his phone, sending a quick text to Liam. 

_ Staying at Harry’s tonight. I’m alright, I promise. See you tomorrow. Xx.  _

Liam answers quickly. 

_ See you tomorrow. Thanks for texting. Xx.  _

The flat is much quieter with Gemma gone. Louis wonders if Harry gets lonely, just him and Eva. Suddenly, the kitchen feels smaller. Louis tries to picture Harry and his little girl in this tiny flat, passing the days with puzzles and books and likely some baking. He wonders if Eva can remember her mother, or if she ever met her father. 

Louis realizes with a start that he can’t decide which is worse: never knowing or never being able to forget. He’ll never forget Jay, he’s sure of that, but it seemed all the more painful to recall every detail of his mother’s smile, her eyes, her bright laughter - 

“Alrigh’?”

  
  
Louis startles, looking back at Harry. The man looks a bit weary, but his eyes are still bright. 

“Fine,” Louis says quietly, and nods to the pile of dishes at his side. “Wanted to start on these. It’ll save us some trouble in the morning.”

“Right you are. Cheers.”

  
  
“It’s not a problem,” Louis reaches for another plate, dunking it in the sink. “Eva’s alright?”

  
  
Harry joins him at the sink, rolling up his sleeves and taking the wet plate from Louis. He grabs a nearby dish towel. 

“She’s got a fever, but I gave her some Benadryl. She’ll sleep it off.”

“You’re a good dad.” Louis says, and hands him another plate. “I love seeing you with her.” 

  
  
Harry is touched. He laughs quietly. 

“Thanks, Lou. I try my best.”

  
  
“You are,” Louis insists. “Take it from someone who had a shitty dad for a long time before Dan came around. Eva absolutely adores you.” 

“She’s m’ everything,” Harry agrees, toweling off another dish. He sets it aside. “Alright. S’ enough, innit?” He nods at the sink. “We’ll finish in the morning. I’m worn out.”   
  


So Harry takes Louis by the hand and they head for his bedroom, tip-toeing carefully past Eva’s room. 

If Eva’s bedroom is pastel, Harry’s bedroom is the exact opposite. The walls are painted a deep navy blue - “S’ my favorite color.” - and another bookshelf stands in the corner, brimming with novels. A framed photograph hangs over the bed, a black and white print of Eva and Harry. The little girl is sitting in her father’s lap, Harry’s arms wrapped tight around her. She’s mid-laugh and Harry’s looking down at her, beaming. 

“She’s two in tha’,” Harry comments, already turning down the bed. “She’s gonna turn four in May. Christ,” He shakes his head. “They grow up so fast.” 

Without saying anything, Louis goes to Harry. Harry simply opens his arms and the two of them stand there, wrapped around each other, for a few minutes. Louis closes his eyes, resting his head against Harry’s chest. Harry holds him gently, swaying a little where he stands. 

Louis can practically feel his eyes drooping closed. How was his shift at the bookstore this morning? That felt like months ago now. 

Harry lets go first, reaching for the bedside lamp. The room feels a lot smaller in the dark. They slip under the sheets and Harry pulls Louis against his chest. 

Dylan never wanted to cuddle. Cuddles were for after sex and nightmares, nothing else. Louis spent years on one side of the bed, giving him as much space as possible, and feeling quite lonely if he’s honest. 

“You’re a spooner.”

  
  
“I am,” Harry presses a kiss to the nape of Louis’s neck. “I like holding you, s’ that a bad thing?”

  
  
“Not at all.”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Harry murmurs.

Louis isn’t even embarrassed. He grabs Harry’s arm as it snakes around his waist. 

“No. What do I say?”

  
  
“Said summat about my shirts when we were at your place,” Harry snickers, his chest shaking. “Like, ‘too flashy.’”

“Sounds like a thing I would say.”    
  


“Indeed.” 

  
  
Harry goes quiet, he’s breathing starting to lengthen. Louis leans into him, closing his eyes, melting into his touch. 

“Night, H.”   


“Night, Lou.” 

…    
  


The next morning, Louis is woken by a very insistent poking. 

Groggily, he opens one eye, then the other. He blinks, and Eva comes into focus. The little girl has her dark hair in two pigtails, each tied off with glittery pink scrunchies. 

“Daddy says you have to get up,” Eva says seriously. “It’s time for breakfast.”

  
  
Louis looks over his shoulder, and sighs. Harry’s side of the bed is empty and made up. Figures. The man probably rose at the crack of dawn to run 5 kilometers. 

_ What a fucking weirdo.  _ Louis thinks fondly, and pulls back the covers.

“I’m coming, Eva.” He promises when the little girl fixes him with a stern look. “Tell your daddy that I’m awake.”   
  
… 

After splashing cold water on his face, Louis heads down the hall into the kitchen, still a little groggy. 

Harry is finishing the washing up, drying the last of the plates from the sink and placing them in the cupboard. Eva stands next to him on her tippy toes, hugging his leg. She’s trying to peer over the counter at what he’s doing, but not making much progress. 

“Morning,” Louis calls hoarsely. 

Harry turns, smiling warmly. 

“Morning.” He puts down the dish towel. “What should we do for breakfast?”

  
  
“Daddy, up!” Eva tugs insistently on Harry’s shorts. 

Harry picks his daughter up. He sits her on the counter, her little legs swinging over the edge as he pulls open the fridge. 

“Any suggestions?” He asks Louis again. “Should we do a proper fry-up?”

  
  
Louis hasn’t had a full English breakfast in months. He nods vigorously. 

They pull out a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, mushrooms, bacon and a dented can of baked beans from the cupboard. Harry squinted at the expiration date, his brow furrowed. 

“I  _ think _ s’ alright.” 

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

  
  
“Good,” He adds it to the pan, sizzling in the oil. “There should be a few tomatoes in the fridge.” 

Louis pulls them out, pulling out a cutting board and halving them. 

“Em, Eva likes bacon butties, and I usually make one for meself,” He looks slightly embarrassed. “Know that’s not a, like, Yorkshire thing.” 

Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes. _ This man.  _

“Do you put a load of butter on it?”

  
  
“Of course!” Harry looks offended. 

Louis pulls out six slices of bread. 

“Then we don’t have a problem.”

… 

Soon, the kitchen is filled with the smell of butter and sizzling bacon. Louis is taken aback by a distant yet familiar memory, of Jay one morning. She’s slicing up some tomatoes and adding them to a pan, her hair tied back in a floral scarf, her eyes shining. 

_ Go and wake up Lottie, will you love? I need her help with the mushrooms.  _

Louis blinks, Harry’s flat coming back into focus. 

Harry turns off the stove. Louis sets the table, while Harry warns Eva sternly not to touch the knives. 

“I’ll cut your food for you, darling,” He promises when she whines. “Hold on.”

  
  
They all settle at the table, plates laden high. Louis hasn’t been this excited about breakfast in a long time. Harry catches his longing expression and grins. They dig in. 

Later, Harry takes the clingfilm off of Louis’ squashed attempt at a birthday cake. 

“You even iced it,” Harry laughs. “I’m impressed.” 

Slices are passed around and Louis has to admit - between gluey mouthfuls - it’s not the best cake he’s ever tasted, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. Eva certainly doesn’t. 

“We’re not having cake for breakfast again anytime soon,” Harry warns her. “Don’t get any ideas, alright?”

Eva isn’t listening, so intent on finishing her slice that she ends up with frosting on her forehead. Harry chuckles, pulling out his phone to capture the moment.

“Did you know,” Harry says between bites. “That no one has ever made me a birthday cake? From scratch?”

Louis frowns. “I don’t believe that at all.”

  
  
“S’ true!” Harry says indignantly. “My Mum always bought them from the store. She wasn’t much of a baker.”  


  
“But you are!”  


  
“M’ not gonna bake meself a birthday cake!” Harry cries. “That’s depressing!” 

Eva giggles, clapping her hands together in delight. 

“What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” Louis asks. 

Harry reaches over and rolls up Eva’s sleeves, trying to save the fabric from the frosting. 

“I usually take her to the park on Saturday’s. You’re welcome to join.”   
  


Louis looks out the window, at the sun peeking through the clouds, and nods. 

“I think I will, thanks.” 

Harry grins crookedly. 

“I’m gonna find you your book today. You have to promise me you’ll read it.”

  
  
Louis feigns a dramatic groan. “I promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed :) 
> 
> \- J xx


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my loves,
> 
> I've had the craziest week at school and haven't had much time to write. Apologies for the late posting. 
> 
> \- J xx

Of all the things Louis Tomlinson thought he’d be doing on a Saturday morning, standing in the middle of Harry’s kitchen wearing a striped burgundy and white jumper was not one of them. 

He looked like a goddamn candy cane. Harry tossed it over when they were getting changed, because Louis didn’t plan on spending the night and had nothing clean to wear. 

“It’s oversized on you,” Harry said. “But that’s fashionable now, innit?”

  
  
“Wouldn’t know. I did hair, not clothes.”

  
  
“Clearly.” Harry looked in disgust at the plain green sweater and black jeans on the floor. 

….

“Eva, go and put on your shoes. Go on now, we’re leaving soon.”   
  


“Wanna wear sandals.” Eva whines, crossing her arms. 

The little girl and her father are in what seems like a standoff, and Louis has to stifle a laugh. The fever from the night before is long gone, and Eva’s got her game face on. Harry’s daughter looks so much like him when she’s upset. She had the same furrowed brow and set jaw, the same stubborn look in her eyes. It was uncanny, really.

  
  


“It’s too cold to wear sandals, darling,” Harry reasons. “Go put on your shoes. You can wear your pink trainers.”

  
  
“Pink trainers.” Eva nods. “But no socks.”

  
  
Harry pinches his nose with his thumb and index finger. 

“She hates socks,” He explains wearily to Louis. “Eva,” He says again. “If you want to go to the park, you need to put your socks  _ and _ shoes on.”

Eva screws up her face. Apparently, putting on socks was quite possibly the most horrible thing in the world.

“No.”

“Eva,” Harry warns. “I’m not going to tell you again.” 

“ _ No _ !”

“Evelyn Styles,” Harry says sharply, and crouches to her height to grab her by the elbow, looking hard at her. “Put on your socks or we aren’t going anywhere today. Are you listening to my words?” 

Louis worries the toddler will cry, that’s what Ernie and Doris did after receiving an ultimatum, but Eva simply pouts and trudges off towards the front door. 

When they hear the sounds of the little girl angrily throwing her shoes on the floor, even Harry cracks a grin. 

“She’s got character, at least.” Louis offers. 

“You’ve no idea.” 

…

Not fifteen minutes later, the three of them are walking down the street towards the river. Eva skips ahead (not  _ too _ far, Harry had warned her sternly) in her purple knit cap and sparkly pink trainers. 

“So, about that footie team.”

  
  
Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t start.” 

Louis snickers. 

“It’s quite funny, picturing you kicking around in your scarves.”

Actually, Harry playing football in his usual get up was the funniest thing Louis could imagine.

  
  
“Oi, there’s nothing wrong with my scarves! I’ll wear what I want.”

  
  
“I know you will.” Louis soothes, taking Harry’s hand. “I’m only teasing.”

Eva stops ahead of them to stomp in a puddle, sending muddy water flying in every direction.

“Good one!” Harry calls brightly. “Try not to ruin your clothes, my love. Mud is hard to get out.” 

...

The park is nearly empty this early in the morning. A young couple and their little boy are by the slide, and Harry raises his hand in greeting. 

While Eva runs with surprising speed towards the swing set, Harry and Louis find a bench close to the playground to keep an eye on her. 

Louis grabs his free hand, lacing their fingers together. Harry smiles at him, pleased. 

**   
** “So,” He muses. “When’s the next dinner with Dan and the girls?” 

“I don’t believe it. You really  _ do _ want to come again.”

  
  
“Of course I do!” He feigns offense. “I’m bringing dessert this time, I can’t show up empty-handed.”

  
  
“It’s next Friday at seven. The girls likes anything with chocolate, an’ Dan won’t complain.”

  
  
“Easy enough,” Harry nods, and Louis knows he’s already mentally planning out what to bake. “I can do a cake, or muffins, or…”

  
  
“They’ll love anything,” Louis assures him. “_I’ll_ love anything. We’re not a difficult family to please.” 

Louis recognizes the irony of the statement the second it leaves his mouth, and bursts into laughter. Harry quickly follows, his eyes shining. 

“I mean, I’m in no position to speak on a dysfunctional or nontraditional family-” He gestures to his adopted daughter on the swings. “But, yeah.”

  
  
“Yeah.” Louis agrees. “I’m cautiously optimistic about this one. I think it’ll be better. We’re getting better.”

  
  
Harry draws his jacket closer as a gust of wind come their way. Louis shivers a little, leaning into him. 

“D’ you think it’s because of your Mum?” 

Louis doesn’t even think twice about confessing. It was that natural with Harry, like twisting the tap on an overflowing sink. His thoughts and feelings came gushing out. 

“It’s been a hard time for the girls and Dan. If I’m honest, I blame myself for most of their grief. I wasn’t around to help them through it.”

  
  
Harry is quiet, silently urging him to keep going. 

“-And, I dunno, it’s just an awful feeling. I want her back, I want to show her that I’m trying my best. Sometimes I feel like I’m letting her down even though she’s not around to see any of it. Of this,” He makes a sweeping gesture. “I just want to show her that I’m alright.” 

“Lou,” Harry says tentatively. “Have you ever thought about grief counseling? Or talking to someone about it?”

Someone. A therapist. 

  
  
“No,” Louis returns flatly. “I don’t really believe in all tha’, and I don’t think I’ll start now.” 

“I’ve done it before, for Robyn, and it helped me a lot. Talking through grief is really cathartic.” He’s silent for a moment before adding, “You know I’d go with you.”

Louis looks up at him, taken aback. 

“...You would?”

  
  
Harry frowns, his eyes softening.

“Of course I would, love. I’d support you through all of it. I know what it’s like.” 

Louis isn’t quite sure what to say. He’s never had someone suggest something so personal, so intimate, and then offer a helping hand on top of it. It was jarring at times, Harry’s way of looking at things, as if the answer had been right in front of them all along. 

Louis thinks back to dinner at Dan’s, only weeks ago but it felt like months now. He thinks of his family, of his beautiful and broken family and the tragedy they’d faced.

The twins were too caught in their own grief to talk through any feelings, while Lottie found it easier to solve her own problems. Louis had to respect that; it had worked for him so far. Dan spent his time working three jobs, and Ernie and Doris were too young to understand any of it. 

Louis realized that his pain and anger had isolated him, and he allowed it. 

Louis is met with an overwhelming sense of relief. Here, sitting on this bench, holding Harry’s hand, and watching Eva swing higher and higher, grinning crookedly down at them, was the place he wanted to be. 

He was going to be alright. 

_ We’ll be a fine line, we’ll be alright.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed it :)
> 
> \- J xx


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> \- J xx

_ April  _

The first days of spring bring sunlight streaming through dark clouds and a newfound appreciation for the little things. For the moments in between, not monumental in the slightest, but necessary. 

Like how Harry always holds the door open for Louis when they get to work, how he’s the first to volunteer for the more tedious jobs, and lets Louis work the till at the front where he’s more comfortable. 

Or how Louis knows by now that Harry can’t function without a dark, strong blend of coffee so he stocks his cupboards with it. Harry finds it a week later, pulling it off the shelf with a grin.

“You didn’t.”

  
  
“I did.”

  
  
“You know this means I’m never leaving, right?” Harry asks with a smirk. “You’ve got me.” 

And it’s a joke, but Louis can’t help but think that Harry means it. He’s not going anywhere, truly. Louis can count on him, and so he does. 

They know these things about each other now, how Louis refuses to drink coffee but will take tea with milk and two sugars. How Harry absolutely hates strawberry jam but will eat the fruit by the handful when Louis brings home groceries. 

At dinner with Dan and the girls, Harry’s got inside jokes with Phoebe and Charlotte. When he tells Lottie a stupid story and she laughs for the first time in months, Dan’s jaw drops. Harry has that way about him, a light emanating from him the second he steps into the room. He sweeps everyone up in his joy. It’s suffocating, the feelings Louis has for him. He finds it overwhelming how badly he wants to tell Harry he loves him.

And yet, he can’t. Not yet. 

It’s the way that Harry catches his eye from across the store, holding his gaze for only a second, smiling. The way that Paul looks between the both of them when they’re closing the shop, and shakes his head, muttering to himself. How Liam doesn’t need to ask Louis where he is, he knows wherever Harry is, Louis is too. 

Not all of the moments were perfect, no, some were quite embarrassing. 

Louis put Eva’s shoes on the wrong feet once, and she giggled like a maniac when he realized. Harry watched it all unfold, a finger pulling at his lips in thought, fighting off a grin. 

There was also the time that Harry completely burned breakfast because Louis had him “too distracted.”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Louis defended. 

“‘Course not, you just have to eat it  _ that _ way and I forget my damn name! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re playing at, Tomlinson.” 

Louis snickers and takes another bit of banana. Harry curses, turning away to douse the blackened pan in the sink water. 

A week later, Harry came over to spend the night and Louis, who had been waiting all day, couldn't help himself. He sank to his knees, reaching for Harry’s belt buckle, and they fell backwards into his bed. 

Afterwards, when they’re sweaty and tangled together, breathless, Liam pounds his fist on the wall from the room over. 

“Are you quite finished? Jesus, Lou!”

  
  
Even if Louis is absolutely humiliated and hides his face in Harry’s chest, his cheeks burning, he’s smiling. 

_ Worth it,  _ Harry mouths. 

Completely worth it. 

… 

_ May  _

It had been a gutting day at the store. No customers at all. The weather had everyone indoors, trying to avoid the frequent downpour. Harry and Louis sat on the floor of the shop playing cards, accusing each other of cheating every other turn.

Paul, who had scolded them for not working at first, joined half an hour later, beating them both. 

Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was that he missed Bebe, or missed his mum, but Louis felt like crying while they closed the shop. He focused on routine movements, trying to distract himself. He puts the bills in the lockbox, wipes down the counters, draws the shutters and turns off their  _ Open _ sign. 

The bookstore looked twice as small with the lights off and the shutters drawn. It looked lonely. 

Harry’s watching him intently from across the store, shelving books. 

“H,” Louis calls hoarsely. “I’m going home.”

  
  
“Right behind you, love,” Harry balances another stack of books on one arm. “Give me a minute.” 

Louis says he’ll wait outside, and pushes open the door, bracing himself for the sleet and wind. He stands there under the awning, shivering, willing Harry to hurry up. 

What he would give for a mug of hot tea and a cuddle…. 

_ Ding.  _ The door pushes open and Harry steps outside, in the process of tying up his curls with a scarf. 

“Christ, it’s freezing,” He winces. “What’s it take for some sun around here, huh?”

  
  
“Ready?”

  
  
Harry falters, seeing Louis’ expression. 

“What’s wrong, Lou?” 

  
  
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m tired,” Louis said tightly, and tries to force a smile. “Are you coming with me? I want to go home.” 

“Yeah, ‘course. Glenne’s got Eva.” Harry begins to search his coat pockets, frowning. “Jus’ a second, I’ve got something for you.” 

“Harry-”

  
  
“It’ll just be a second, love, hold on.”

Louis sets his jaw, trying to be patient and humor Harry. When Harry produces a light blue pamphlet, Louis frowns. 

“What is it?” He asks, sulking. 

  
  
“Oh, just take it, will you? Read it.”

On the front cover is a rolling meadow, bordered by a white picket fence. 

_ Learning to Process Grief - A Six Week Session  _

_ Led by Dr. Barbara Danvers  _

_ Healing through group discussion and reflection.  _   
  


Suddenly, he hears Jay’s voice in his head. 

_ If you don’t try, you’ll never know, Louis. Sometimes we have to do the things that frighten us.  _

Louis’s throat is closing in on him, tightening painfully. He can feel his eyes brimming with tears, and they spill over his cheeks as he looks up at Harry, unable to suppress it. Harry’s face twists in pain, his eyes filling with concern. 

“Oh, Lou. Hey, don’t cry, darling, it’s okay.” 

  
  
“I love you,” Louis says, and lets out a tight, quiet sob, startling Harry. “You have no idea how much I needed this today. Thank you so much.” 

Bewildered, Harry pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around Louis. They stand that way, holding each other, for a long time. Harry pulls away first, leaning down to kiss Louis’s forehead. Louis closes his eyes, leaning into Harry’s touch. 

“I think you need this,” Harry says quietly. “An’ I’ll go with you, alright? It doesn’t have to be scary. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.” 

“I love you,” Louis repeats. “I love you.” 

Harry grins crookedly. 

“I heard you the first time, sweet boy,” He murmurs, and takes Louis’s face in his hands. He leans in to kiss him once on the lips. “I love you too.” 

Paul sees them through the window and pauses for a moment, watching with a smile on his face. He remembered those days, the kind of love that coursed through your veins like lightning. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed. 
> 
> \- J xx


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies,
> 
> Hope everyone is having a lovely Thursday. Push through to the end of the week!
> 
> Happy reading :) 
> 
> \- J xx

_ June _

It’s the start of the summer when Louis finally learns more about Harry’s dating past. 

Not in the way that he anticipated either: sitting at the coffee table with Gemma, sipping lemonade. A warm breeze blows in through the open windows of Harry’s flat and Louis hasn’t felt this at ease in ages. The bookstore was only open four days a week in the summer, which gave Harry and him plenty of free time. 

Louis can hear Harry laughing quietly with Eva in the room over, they’re doing a puzzle on the living room floor, something complicated and artsy no doubt. It was only his nature. 

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” 

Louis looks over at Gemma, who smiles faintly. He’d grown closer to Harry’s sister in the past few months, attracted to her sharp wit and impeccable taste in clothing. Today, she’s wearing a red summer dress with tiny, cream-colored flowers and black sandals. She reminds Louis of Bebe, a more reserved version, that is.

“What’s that?” 

“You guys are a proper couple,” She muses, taking another sip of her lemonade. “He’s never had that before, you know.” 

“We’ve never talked about his past relationships. He knew about Dylan, of course, but I never pushed him for details.” 

Gemma doesn’t look surprised. 

“He’s a private person.”

  
  
Louis traces the rim of his glass, suddenly curious. 

“Was he ever in a serious relationship?” 

  
“Do you really want to know? I’ll not have you mad at me for telling the truth,” Gemma raises an eyebrow, gauging his reaction.   
  
But Louis nods, figuring if anyone would tell it to him straight, it would be Gemma. 

“Suppose you ought to know anyway. He nearly married his last partner. Her name was Sophie.” 

_ Sophie,  _ as in a woman. Louis finds himself inhaling sharply.  _ Okay, this is fine. Don’t react.  _

“How long were they together?”

  
  
“Two years.” 

“Christ, Gemma, you just said he’s never had a proper relationship before,” Louis laughed nervously. “They were together for two years, I’d call that proper!”

“She lived in New York.”

  
  
“She…” Louis trails off. “What?” 

“They had a long-distance relationship. It was too difficult. That’s why she broke it off.” 

_ She broke it off.  _

Louis leaned back in his chair, stunned. It was difficult to picture Harry with a woman, especially an American one. How had it worked? Did he fly over once a month? Did Sophie ever meet Eva?   
_   
_ The unspoken truth hits him hard -  _ Harry wanted Eva to have a mother.  _

_ ... _

_ July  _

It’s the hottest day on record in Doncaster when Harry asks Louis to move in with him. 

Louis doesn’t understand, at first. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of Harry’s living room, trying to avoid the outdoors at all costs. Harry’s strumming idly on guitar, his hair twisted up into a bun, a sweet melody filling the flat. Eva’s on the couch coloring with crayons and likely making a mess. Louis’s leaning against the couch with Cassidy in his lap, the dog fast asleep. 

“So,” Harry stops playing for a moment, looking over at Louis. “We’ve been spending a lot of time at mine lately.”

It was true. Several nights a week, Louis found himself walking home with Harry. Liam didn’t bother asking anymore, he assumed that if Louis wasn’t at the flat, he was with Harry. Even Eva was accustomed to Louis spending the night, shouting out a joyful “Lou-wee!” when he came through the door. 

Louis’s toothbrush was on Harry’s bathroom counter, alongside his cologne and a bottle of hair gel. There were two pairs of shoes in the hall closet that belonged to him. Several drawings of Harry  _ and _ Louis hung on the fridge, proudly signed by Eva. There were boxes of Yorkshire tea in the cupboard, and Louis’s favorite mug next to them. He didn’t spend a lot of time at Harry’s flat, he practically  _ lived _ there. 

  
“Well, I’d rather not put up with Liam all the time.”

“S’ fair.”

  
  
“An’ it’s not my fault he wants to sleep in until half noon every day. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Of course not,” Harry smiles. “But maybe it’s time you move your things over here? Make it official?”    
  


It takes an immense amount of effort to pet Cassidy like nothing’s happened. Louis doesn’t want to wake the dog. But he very badly wants to throw himself into Harry’s arms and never let go. 

“As in…”

  
  
“As in move in with me,” Harry chuckles at Louis’s shocked expression. He nods. “Yeah.” 

Louis is quiet. He leans forward, silently requesting a kiss. Harry grants it easily, leaning down to meet his height. When they pull away, Harry searches his face anxiously. 

“Is that a yes?” 

Of course Harry would be worried about pushing boundaries and moving too quickly. It’s what Louis loves the most about him, his constant selflessness. 

  
“I suppose so,” Louis says teasingly. “Yes, H. I think I can manage moving in with you.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Harry grinned, kissing him once more.    
  


_ Loving you’s the antidote, golden…  _

  
… 

_ August  _

How was this actually happening? How had Harry convinced Louis to set foot in this place, let alone sit down in the circle of chairs and not panic? He should be running down the hall at this very second, leaving his past behind, but Harry’s right here next to him, a soothing hand on his knee as if to say,  _ it’s okay. I’m right here, and we can do this.  _

_ We,  _ Louis realized with a start. He’s no longer alone in this mess. 

“Ah, and last but not least, this young gentleman,” 

Louis looks up at Dr. Barbara Danvers, the lead speaker of the grief support group. She has blonde hair twisted up into a tight chiffon and large hoop earrings. She’s spent the last twenty minutes breaking down the seminar and asking the rest of the members to introduce themselves. Louis’s been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t even realized it was his turn. 

Harry squeezes his knee gently, urging him forward. 

“I’m Louis,” He raises his hand tentatively in greeting. “I’m here to, um, move past the death of my mother. Her name was Jay. She died last winter.”   
  


_ Saying it out loud still hurts more than anything.  _ He thinks.  _ The truth can be so brutal.  _

  
“We see you, Louis.” The group echoed obediently. “We hear you.” 

“We see you, Louis,” Dr. Danvers repeated. She smiles warmly, her eyes filling with genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear about your mother, Louis.” 

“Thank you. I have to be honest, I’m not the kind of person to talk through my feelings. My mum was, but she’s not… around anymore,” Louis finishes lamely, trailing off. 

Dr. Danvers nods in understanding, then gestures to Harry. 

“Did you bring a friend for support?”

  
  
“Oh, no, this is Harry,” Louis covers Harry’s hand, the one on his knee, and squeezes it gently. “He’s my boyfriend, he’s the one that suggested I come here.”

  
“Welcome, Harry,” Dr. Danvers said. “We’re happy to have you here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Harry says politely, but his eyes don’t leave Louis. 

Louis felt safe with him, despite how terrifying the prospect of this therapy session was.    
  
The session unravels from there, with several people stepping forward to tell their stories. Louis didn’t know what he expected, but the raw sorrow seeping from each stranger was enough to bring him to tears. To hear about the devastating power of loss and understand it so deeply, even though he didn’t know the person, was an incredible experience. 

Louis felt humbled. Several times, he leaned against Harry’s shoulder, squeezing his hand, silently thanking him. He would have to articulate how much this meant to him later, when he wasn’t so overwhelmed. 

… 

Harry knew it was becoming too much when Louis got that look in his eyes. 

He didn’t get the look often, the glazed over, deer-in-the-headlights kind of expression. He had to watch Louis carefully some nights, when the boy had a rough day at work or a particularly painful phone call with one of his sisters. Those were the nights when he crawled quietly into bed, reaching for Harry without saying anything. Louis always had nightmares when he got that look in his eyes, waking with a start, tears welling in his eyes before Harry even turned the lights on. 

So when the session ends and Louis stands abruptly without a word, Harry is worried. And when he cuts through the group of strangers milling about and heads out the door, Harry follows after him. And more than anything else, Harry feels guilty for pushing Louis too hard. 

_ Was it too soon? Was he not ready yet?  _

… 

Harry finds Louis sitting in the hallway. The boy is hunched over in a chair, his hands clasped together. Harry’s throat tightens when he sees the boy’s shoulders shaking. He’s crying. 

“Louis!” Harry says in alarm, rushing to him. “I’m here, Lou, I’m right here.” 

Harry wipes away a stray tear before it can travel down Louis’s cheek, and leans into kiss his nose. Louis lets out a quiet sob, reaching up for him. Harry gets to his knees so he can wrap his arms around Louis at his level, and presses his forehead against Louis’s. 

There’s a moment of silence only punctuated by Louis’s labored breathing, and Harry pulls away to press a hard kiss to his hairline. 

Louis closes his eyes, lip quivering. 

“Oh, love,” Harry murmurs. “I’m so sorry, darling.”   
  


Louis just shakes his head, his eyes still closed as tears travel down his cheeks. 

“I know that was hard, but you did it. You took it like a champ, know tha’?” He asks. “So much better than I did my first time.”   
  


Louis’s tears have slowed some by now, and Harry feels the tightness in his chest fade.

“Really?”

  
  
“Really,” Harry tells him seriously. “Think I bawled my eyes out halfway through the session.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Louis laughs wetly, but it sounds more like a sob, and Harry winces. 

“It’s true. An’ I’m so bloody proud of you, babe. I can’t believe you did that just now, it was incredible.” 

Louis smiles weakly, reaching for him again. 

“I love you.”

  
  
“I love you too, darling.” Harry says quietly. “Let’s go home.” 

Home. Wherever Harry was, Louis felt at home. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed it, I love hearing from you guys.
> 
> \- J xx


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys,
> 
> I know I haven't posted in a couple weeks. I've been pretty sick and have spent the last week or so catching up on schoolwork. I'm ready for spring :/ 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one, happy reading! 
> 
> \- J xx

_ September  _

It gets easier. 

Louis doesn’t want to believe it will, and he fights hard against it. He doesn’t know how Harry does it, supporting him through the group therapy despite his stubbornness. The sessions were long, and Louis grew tired of crying through them, but the pain started to fade. He no longer dreaded walking through the doors of the center, especially with Harry at his side. 

The nightmares didn’t stop, but Louis wasn’t alone anymore when he woke up. Harry was there, pulling him into his arms, while Louis’s whole body wracked from the force of his sobs. It was still terrifying, but he no longer felt so helpless. 

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Harry would say. “So proud.”   
  
In bed, in the shower, on the walk to work. Over dinner and conversation, or while rocking Eva to sleep. Harry let Louis know day in and day out with each passing moment that he was proud, and more importantly, that he understood how hard it was to keep going. To keep fighting against his fears. 

_ Keep going.  _ That was something Jay would say. 

Louis knows he has to try. He has to confront the monster his grief has become, the shadow lurking around every corner, watching, waiting. Louis doesn’t want to be scared by it anymore. 

Things were changing for the better. He could see it, and the people he loved could too. 

Dan made a comment in passing about how Louis looked healthy, how he looked strong. Lottie no longer hesitated before bringing her brother into a hug, and when Phoebe did cry - luckily her tears were far and few between - she always went running into Louis’s arms. 

Liam, too, was blown away by his best friend’s progress. 

“What?” Louis asked gruffly one morning, put off by Liam’s staring. 

His friend was holding a mug of tea at the kitchen counter, studying him intently. 

“Nothing.”

  
  
“Yeah? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Because,” Liam said, smiling faintly as he raised the mug to his lips. “You look happy, Lou.” 

Louis didn’t know what to say. 

That was it, wasn’t it? What had changed in these past few months, from working at that ridiculous bookstore to meeting Harry. 

Louis was  _ happy _ . 

… 

_ October  _

The flat was in absolute disarray. 

Several pairs of Eva’s shoes were strewn across the living room floor. Rolls of undeveloped film covered the coffee table, and Louis couldn’t remember the last time he saw his satchel. Or his keys, now that he thought about it. 

Luckily, Eva was at daycare. Louis wasn’t sure this was the safest place for a child currently. 

To say that Harry was nervous about his mother coming into town was an understatement. The man was cleaning and organizing like his life depended on it, not realizing that he was actually doing more damage. 

Presently, Harry was on his knees in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets and tossing out boxes of tea and coffee. The floor was already covered with bowls and utensils, and the occasional placemat. Louis had to intervene, before disaster struck. 

“Haz, love...” 

  
“It’s fine.”

  
  
“I just think that-”

  
  
“It’s _fine_!” Harry burst out angrily. “Could you let me do this?” 

Louis recoiled. Everything was silent for a moment, and then Harry sighed, his shoulders deflating. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He turned around, looking up at Louis apologetically. “I’m sort of stressed about Mum visiting tomorrow.”

  
  
“Sort of?” Louis teased, crouching at his boyfriend’s side. “You know, I don’t think she’ll mind if things aren’t perfectly organized. You’ve got a three-year-old.”

  
  
“She’s almost four.”

This was true. Eva’s birthday was a week from today. Anne was coming into town to spend it with her granddaughter. 

  
  
“You’ve got an _almost_ four-year-old, and a giant dog,” Louis nodded at Cassidy, who was lounging on the couch, thankfully unaware of all the food scattered across the floor. “Who, by the way, is more of a bear now that we’re talking about it.”

Harry laughed. The tightness in his eyes was starting to fade. 

“Am I freaking out for no reason? I want her to love everything, I want her to love  _ you _ .”   
  
Louis smiled, touched. 

“Well, her liking me won’t have anything to do with the state of our flat, and-” He frowned, pausing. “Why’re you smiling like that?”

Harry looked very pleased with himself. 

“Our. You said ‘our flat.’”

“My god, you’re such a sap.”

  
  
“I am _definitely_ a sap,” Harry reached up to ruffle Louis’s hair, snickering when he rolled his eyes, pulling away. “A sap who is asking nicely for help to put this place back together. I promise to dial it back a little.”

  
  
Louis picked up a box of tea and placed it in the open cupboard. He couldn’t say no to that. 

… 

It isn’t until much later, after dinner with Eva fast asleep in her room that Louis realizes the full extent of Harry’s fear. 

He knew from Gemma that Anne, their mother, could be rather intimidating. It was hard to imagine someone like Harry being afraid of anything, or craving approval from anyone, but single mothers had that way about them. An unshakeable resolve. 

Louis knew well enough to stay out of Jay’s way when she had her mind set on something. It was one of the things he missed about her the most - her steadfast nature, her determination. 

But when Harry came out of the shower that night, hair sopping wet and dripping onto the carpet, Louis wasn’t expecting the question that followed. 

“Can you cut it?”   
  


Louis looked up from the book he was reading -  _ Norwegian Wood  _ by Murakami, a copy Harry had thrust into his hands one day with a stern look - it was quite good.    
  


“What?”

  
  
“My hair,” Harry stammered, fiddling nervously with his rings. “I want you to cut it all off.”  
  


_ Oh.  _ Harry loved his hair. It reached past his shoulders by now, long and dark. He had beautiful curls, even if he tied them up in a scarf. 

  
“Harry…” Louis began slowly, pulling back the covers to sit up and study him. “That’s a big decision, love. Are you sure this isn’t because of your mum?”  


  
Harry let out a helpless noise, throwing his hands up. 

“This  _ is _ because of my mum, Lou. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I need this. I need something to be different, because things are different. This - ” He gestured wildly between them, and Louis’s heart swelled. “- This is serious. And I need her to see that. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, an’ you’re a hairstylist, so I figured I’d ask.” 

Louis’s never seen Harry this flustered or talking so fast. It’s slightly endearing. He was always so composed. 

“I think she’ll see it either way. But if you want this I can do it for you, love. Are you absolutely sure? I can’t put it back.”

  
  
Harry’s lips curl up at the joke. 

“I’m sure.”

… 

And that was how the two of them ended up in the kitchen, Harry cross-legged on a dining room chair, a decisive look in his eyes. 

Louis had to dig through his suitcase to find the scissors and comb. They were in the same case, red leather, from the salon in London. Long-forgotten. Louis wondered briefly if he could do this, did he remember how to? Who he was then felt like lifetimes ago. 

“Are you sure?” He asks hoarsely one more time, running his fingers idly through Harry’s locks. They were still wet, dripping onto the hardwood. 

“Please,” Harry nods. “As short as you have it. I’m sure.” 

Louis exhales. 

“Right.”

  
  
It’s muscle memory, combing back Harry’s hair and sectioning it off at the nape of his neck. The scissors work quickly, and the curls fall to the floor. 

It’s quiet, and Louis worries for a moment that Harry’s changed his mind, but then laughter rings out. Harry’s laughing, leaning forward and clutching his chest, the way he laughed the first night Louis spent in the flat. 

“I needed that,” Harry wiped at his eyes, grinning up at Louis. “Thank you.”

  
  
“I’m not done yet, love,” Louis laughed with him. “You look a bit like Samson, hold on.” 

It takes a few minutes, but Louis moves the scissors and comb through Harry’s hair, delicately adding layers and fringe. The short hair is handsome on him, showing off his jawline. Louis can finally see his eyes, a striking green now that curls weren’t falling in front of them. He likes Harry like this; the world can see him now. 

Harry doesn’t take his eyes off Louis the entire time, biting his lip in thought.

  
  
“This is you,” He says softly after a moment. “This is your passion, I can tell.”

  
  
Louis is taken aback by a memory of Bebe and him sweeping the salon at closing time. 

_ “You should take it, you know.” _

_  
__  
_ _“I can’t.”_

_  
__  
_ _“You can’t or someone won’t let you?” Bebe asked tersely. “Lou, an internship like this doesn’t come around again. Dylan shouldn’t even have a say.”__  
_

_  
_ _“I couldn’t do that to him. Not when he’s just settled at the University. Moving across London is not a good idea for any job.” _

_ “This isn’t just ‘any’ job, Lou-” _

_  
__  
_ _“Can you drop it?” Louis burst out, whirling around to confront her. “I can’t take it, so I’m not going to. End of discussion.” _

He remembers how Bebe reared back, stunned. That was the first and only time he played one of Dylan’s cards. He vowed to never act like that again, bitter and arrogant, even if it was the only thing Dylan taught him how to be. 

“I used to love it,” Louis says, combing out another section of hair to thin out. “I wasn’t in a great place while doing that job. Maybe sometime in the future I could…” he trails off. “Maybe.” 

  
  
Harry says nothing, reaching up to cup Louis’s cheek. 

“I love you. Thank you for doing this.” 

  
  
“I love you, too. You’re welcome.”  
  
… 

The next morning begins like any other. Harry wakes Eva, fixes her a bowl of Weetabix, and walks her around the block to the daycare center. 

Louis busies himself with cleaning up the kitchen and putting away last minute things around the flat. He straightens the shoes lining the entryway, and moves the vase of lilies they’d bought at the market to the coffee table. 

Harry’s back in ten minutes. The two of them sit together, drinking their coffee and tea, struggling to focus on the conversation and not Anne’s imminent arrival. 

Louis finds himself staring at the door, waiting for the buzzer to go. Harry’s mother was expected any minute now, and her son looked rather pale. 

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

  
  
Louis isn’t patronizing him, Harry knows this. It’s the exact opposite, actually. He sees the fear in Harry’s eyes and wants to offer any form of encouragement or support that he can.

“Yes,” Harry says quietly.

Louis laces his fingers tight through his, holding Harry’s gaze for a moment, trying to calm him down. 

“It's alright, my love. We’ll do this together, okay?”

  
  
Harry squeezes back. 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment if you enjoyed.
> 
> Writers thrive off of feedback :)
> 
> \- J xx


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves!
> 
> Hope everyone had a wonderful Sunday. 
> 
> \- J xx

_ Bzz. _

The bell sounds like a gunshot through the flat, startling both Louis and Harry. Harry takes a deep breath, straightens, and reaches forward to buzz his mother in. 

The door swings open a few moments later, revealing a short, dark-haired woman in a yellow spring dress. She’s holding a small box wrapped in a polka-dot print. Eva’s favorite. 

So this was the famous Anne Twist. Louis can’t pretend he’s not intimidated, but then she removes her sunglasses and grins widely, looking remarkably like Gemma. Louis notices she has Harry’s eyes, the sort of green so intense you can’t look away. 

Louis is met with a nostalgic sort of melancholy, realizing he won’t ever have a moment like this again, welcoming his mother into his home. 

“Hi, Mum,” Harry says. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Harry,” Anne gasps. “You’ve cut your hair!” 

To Louis’s relief, Anne looks pleased with the haircut. Harry steps forward obediently, embracing his mother and kissing her on both cheeks. She reaches up to comb her fingers through his hair and Harry laughs, still a little self-conscious.

“What do you think? Louis did it for me, he worked in a salon for a while.”

“It looks wonderful.” Anne says kindly. She looks over Harry’s shoulders at Louis. “So you must be the boyfriend.”

  
  
“_Mum_.” 

“Oh, I’m only joking, I know his name.” She steps around Harry and extends her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Louis. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  
  
Louis shakes Anne’s hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you as well, Mrs. Twist.”

  
  
“Oh, please call me Anne, Louis. I much prefer it.”

  
  
From behind his mother, Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. Louis pressed on, feeling a little more confident. 

“Anne, of course. How was the drive?”

  
  
“Quite nice, despite the traffic. I’d love to see the little one, though,” She looks back at Harry inquisitively. “Where’s Eva, love?”

  
  
“Daycare. We can go and get her at noon.”

  
  
“Ah.”  
  


A glance at the clock tells Louis they have two hours until then. 

_ Deep breath in _. Next to him, Harry snakes an arm around his waist. Louis feels him kiss his temple. They can do this. 

  
… 

To Louis’s relief, Anne decides she’ll shower and put away her things first. Harry shows her to the guest room and makes sure she has enough towels before leaving her be. 

He looks slightly frazzled when he comes back down the hall, enough so that Louis laughs quietly from where he sits cross legged on the couch. 

“What?” Harry looked alarmed for a moment, then began to pout. “Oi, don’t make fun of me. S’ not nice.”

  
  
“I’m not making fun,” Louis promised, reaching up for him as he walked over. Harry settled next to him on the couch, taking ahold of Louis and easily pulling him into his lap. “I find you incredibly endearing when you’re nervous, that’s all.”

  
  
“Yeah?”

  
  
“Yeah,” Louis says softly, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. He kisses him sweetly on the cheek and Harry wrinkles his nose in protest. “Because you don’t get nervous. You’re normally the confident one.”

  
  
“You’ve seen me nervous plenty of times, Lou.”

  
  
“Not like this.”

  
  
“No,” Harry agrees, and tucks his lip between his teeth, a worrying habit of his. “But this is important t’ me, alright? I want her to like you.”

“Well, you can’t force it. Let’s just see what happens, love. It’ll be alright.”

  
  
Harry nods, but the way he’s looking at the hallway tells Louis he isn’t listening anymore. This _ stubborn _ man. 

…   
  
“Mum!” Harry calls impatiently. “Are you coming? I’ve got to leave now to get there in time.”

  
  
There is a muffled, slightly annoyed call from the guest bedroom and Harry is wise enough to wait another minute. Sure enough, Anne comes out of her room looking rather put off. She’s wearing another dress, this time a green one, and the same leather boots that Harry likes to wear. 

“I said I’d be ready to go.” She fixes Harry with a withering stare. “Am I not?”

  
  
“You are,” Harry sighs, and Louis has to hold in a laugh. “Let’s go an’ see the little one, alright?”

  
  
“Should we swing by the shops to get things for lunch?”

  
  
“Sounds like a great idea. Louis was planning on making Eva’s favorite for her birthday.”  
  


“Um, it’s just a ham and cheese toastie,” Louis says, a little embarrassed now that Anne was looking so intently at him, already smiling. “She likes the way I make it, with lots of cheese.”

  
“And mustard?”

  
  
“Yeah,” Louis frowned. “How’d you know?”

  
  
“Harry ate them that way as a child.”

  
  
“It’s true,” Harry laughs at the memory. “It would stain my church clothes yellow; drove her near crazy.” 

Louis longs, silently, to learn even more about Harry. To know absolutely everything there is to know about the wild, stubborn man in front of him. 

_ ...You’re so golden. _

… 

The walk to Eva’s daycare is short, with Harry and Anne chatting casually about the weather and Cheshire. Louis still found it hilarious that Harry - the man who regularly wore Hawaiian shirts to work and painted his nails pastel pink - was born and raised in _ Cheshire _, of all places. 

When they walk into the daycare building, it takes Eva all of two seconds to spot Harry. 

“Daddy!” She shrieks, taking a running start and nearly crashing into Harry, who scoops her up easily into his arms. 

“Hi, my love.” Harry pulls his daughter onto his hip, grinning at her. “Did you have a good time?”

  
  
“We played princess land,” Eva says matter-of-factly. “I got to wear the purple tiara.” 

“The purple one?” Harry feigns a tone of shock. “You know, my love, purple _ is _ the royal color.”

  
  
Eva grins crookedly at him. 

“D’ you want to say hello to your Nan?” Harry nods his head at Anne, who’s beaming at her granddaughter. “She’s missed you so much.”

  
  
“Hi, Nana,” Eva says shyly, peering at her grandmother over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Hi, my darling. Tomorrow’s the big day!”

  
  
“I’ll be _four_.” Eva says seriously, holding up the respective fingers to prove it. “That’s a lot of years.”

  
Louis, Harry, and Anne all bark out a laugh. Eva recognizes the sound and looks over, her eyes lighting up. 

“Lou-wee!”

  
  
“Hi, Ev.” Louis smiles. “Are you ready for lunch?”  
  


Eva nods emphatically, and then leans against her father’s shoulder, closing her eyes.

“Somebody’s knackered,” Harry laughs fondly. “We’ll make a quick stop and then head home.”

  
  
…   
  


Louis is agonizing over the cheese selection in the deli aisle when Anne approaches him. 

“You’re quite good with her.”

  
  
Louis looks up, startled. Anne’s holding a loaf of bread, studying him intently. 

“Sorry?” 

“Eva,” Anne explains. “She’s clearly very comfortable around you.”

  
  
“Well,” Louis clears his throat, not quite prepared to have this conversation. “Well, Harry and I have been living in the flat together for a few months. I was over every weekend before that. She’s a lovely little girl, she reminds me so much of my younger siblings.”

  
  
“You have siblings?”

  
  
“Five,” Louis nods, and then grins at Anne’s horrified expression. “Four sisters and a brother. I’m the eldest.”

  
“I can see it in you. You’re so level headed.”

  
  
“Thank you. I try my best.” 

"And Louis, I wanted to say how sorry I am to hear about your mother's passing. I just lost my husband to cancer a few years ago, I know how devastating it is."  
  
  


"I-" Louis stammers, feeling slightly overwhelmed. He swallows hard, centers himself. "Thank you. I appreciate that. And I'm sorry to hear about your husband, from what Harry's told me he was a wonderful man."  
  
  


"He was." Anne nods. "I miss him everyday." 

They stand there in front of each other, both a little teary-eyed, until Harry calls his mother from the aisle over. 

“Mum, come get the pickles you like!”

  
  
Anne chuckles, wiping quickly at her eyes. She flashes a bright smile at Louis. 

“Branston,” She confides. “Branston pickles. They’re the best. Trust me.” 

Louis does. He has a feeling this woman knows the best of everything and everyone. He sees it in her son, in the man he’s fallen madly and hopelessly in love with. 

He hopes that by some miracle he can convince Anne of that, that he can earn her approval. 

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed. 
> 
> \- J xx


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies!
> 
> Hope everyone had a great weekend. 
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> \- J xx

Half an hour later, the four of them are sitting down to eat lunch. 

Louis is feeling quite pleased with how the toasties turned out, they’re golden brown and perfectly gooey, but Eva is pouting at her plate. It’s piled high with slices of cheese toastie and (at Harry’s insistence) exactly seven carrot batons.

Eva wanted five. Harry countered at ten, and they reached an agreement at seven. Anne watched it unfold, clearly amused. Louis was grateful the argument hadn’t transpired into a tantrum. He wasn’t sure Harry could handle that in front of his mother. 

“So,” Anne says, taking a bite of her toastie. “This is lovely, by the way. You two met at the bookstore?”

  
  
“Thank you,” Louis says. “Yes, we met during my first week. I had just moved back to Donny.” 

Harry nods, leaning over Eva to cut her carrots into smaller pieces. 

“I let Cassidy loose in the store. She nearly knocked Lou over.”

  
  
“It was quite the introduction, I have to admit.”

“He thought I was crazy.”

  
  
“Oh, I still do.”

Anne barks out a laugh, one hand flying up to cover her mouth, the same way Harry does. 

“I can only imagine. That dog is an absolute monster, isn’t she?” 

Harry looks over at Cassidy, who is sleeping soundly on the living room floor. 

“Maybe. But I still love her.” 

“I know you do.”

Anne launches into her next topic of conversation immediately, but Harry goes quiet. He studies his mother intently as she speaks, a smile spreading across his face.

“...Not to mention that sister of yours. Do you think Michal will propose this year? He has to, doesn’t he?”

“Mum,” Harry says, trying to sound exasperated but his smile is only growing. “It’s really none of our business.”

  
  
“You don’t like him?”

  
  
“Of course I do! I only meant it’s not up to us, is it?”

Anne purses her lips, pondering this.

“I suppose.”   
  


Eva hasn’t stopped pouting. Quickly, Louis grabs a carrot from her plate and takes a bite, pretending to listen intently. Eva giggles. 

Louis winks at her. One down, six to go.

… 

After lunch, Anne has some friends in Doncaster to catch up with. She heads out for the afternoon, while Harry wrangles Eva into her room for her nap. 

Surprisingly, Eva is tired enough to not put up a fight. When Harry returns, he looks quite pleased with himself. 

“Things are going well today,” Louis remarks. “We’ve had good luck.”

Harry nods, smiling to himself as he joins Louis on the couch. They sit cross-legged side to side. 

“She lets you call her Anne.”   
  


“Sorry?”

  
  
“My mum,” Harry explains. “Earlier today, she told you to call her ‘Anne.’ That’s never happened before.”

  
  
“Really?” Louis is surprised. 

“She’s normally very…” Harry searches for the right word, frowning. “ _ Frigid _ , when it comes to partners. I don’t think she’s ever asked someone to call her Anne, she normally has them under her thumb.”

For some reason, Louis is put off by this. The way Harry mentioned partners so flippantly has Louis looking for a fight. 

  
  
“Everyone? Even Sophie?”

  
  
It’s like sucking all the air out of the room. Louis regrets it the moment he says it, leaning forward as if he could take it back, could cover Harry’s ears and spare them this argument. 

He feels even guiltier when Harry inhales sharply like he’s been punched in the chest, completely caught off guard. Harry goes very pale. 

“How did you…?”

“Gemma.”

  
  
Harry is quiet. He clasps his hands and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, deep in thought. 

“Figured she’d tell you at some point.” He looks hesitantly at Louis. “I’m sorry.”

  
  
“You don’t have to apologize.”

  
  
“S’ just,” Harry sits back up, suddenly serious. “That was a really difficult part of my life. We were together when Dan and Emma-” He stops suddenly, shaking his head. “Actually, I can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.”  
  


The apology makes it so much  _ worse _ . 

  
“Don’t apologize,” Louis pleads, and reaches for Harry’s hand. “I’m sorry, H, that was a dick move. I got jealous, it was stupid.”

  
  
“You deserve to know, love, and I want to be honest with you. I’ve got nothing to hide, s’ just hard to talk about. That part of my past is something I’ve avoided for so long, it’s too painful.”

“I understand. You don’t have to explain it to me.” 

“I’d like to, though.”

  
  
“One day,” Louis says softly. He squeezes Harry’s hand. “And I’ll be here to listen.”

  
  
“One day.” Harry agrees.

They spend the rest of the afternoon tangled together onto the couch, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

… 

By the time Anne is home, Harry and Louis are already setting the dinner table. Eva is wearing the purple dress Anne bought her as a gift, fit with sequins and sparkles and enough tulle to make a ballerina jealous. Harry’s daughter has been running around the house and spinning, giggling when the dress spun with her. 

The pasta primavera (Eva’s favorite) is nearly done but Harry leaves the stove every few minutes to snap a picture of his daughter. He’s got his work camera out, the Nikon, and promises to send any good ones to his mother. 

Dinner is incredible and finished quickly. Harry pulls Eva’s cake out of the cupboard and lights the four candles. It’s a beautiful chocolate creme layer cake from the bakery down the street, iced with delicate purple flowers. 

_ Happy 4th Birthday, Eva!  _

After singing Happy Birthday and reminding Eva to make a wish, the little girl leans forward to blow out the candles. All three of them cheer. Harry takes more pictures. 

It’s a beautiful moment, Eva in front of the glowing cake with wide, childlike excitement. Chaos ensues when the cake is cut, and she manages to get frosting on her dress, face, and hair. 

It’s only when Harry looks up from his camera that Louis sees the tears in his eyes. Harry wipes them away harshly, turning back to face everyone with a bright smile. 

His daughter was growing up. That had to be terrifying. 

… 

_ 10 pm.  _

Louis is exhausted. It’s been a long, slightly stressful, action-packed day and all he wants to do is cuddle with his boyfriend and fall asleep. He can barely keep his eyes open as it is. 

Louis thinks he hears Harry putting Cassidy in her crate, and sets off down the hall, being mindful and tiptoeing around Eva’s door. 

“Love, you ready for bed?” He calls softly. “Anne’s in her room. Eva’s asleep.” 

  
  
Louis pauses. The lights in the kitchen are off, but Louis can make out Harry’s figure. He takes a few steps forward. Harry’s sitting with his back against the cupboards, his knees to his chest. 

“Haz?” Louis moves quickly to him. “What’s wrong?” 

There is clearly something wrong. His suspicions are confirmed when Harry exhales heavily, sniffling a little. 

Louis crouches to his knees, his eyes still adjusting to the dark. Harry looks up at him and tries to force a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Hey,” Harry says hoarsely. “Sorry, I was just coming to bed.”

  
“What happened?” 

  
“It was a little much, I guess, seeing her with the cake an’ the candles…” Harry waves his hand around, searching for the right words. “She’s _four_,” He says hollowly. “Dunno why it’s hitting me so hard.”   
  


"She’s growing up," Louis murmurs. "That's scary. It's normal to feel that way." 

“I just worry that-” Harry’s sentence is drowned out by a tight, painful sob. 

Louis’s heart sinks. Harry was crying. Harry never cried. 

“-I worry that I’m not a good dad, y’ know? I got her when I was too young, an’ I had to fake my way through it. There were some days when I had no bloody idea what I was doing.” 

He swallows harshly, his chest heaving a little. 

“It’s a lot. An’ I know I make it seem like it’s the best thing in the world, and god, I love her with  _ everything _ I have, but I’m still terrified I’ll mess her up somehow.” 

Louis turns and sits against the cupboards, next to Harry. Harry begins to cry quietly and Louis leans his head against Harry’s shoulder, grabbing his hand and bringing it to his chest. He squeezes Harry's hand gently. 

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I'm right next to you, and I’m not going anywhere.”   
  


He’ll sit here as long as it takes for Harry to stop crying. Because Harry has always done the same for him. 

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Drop a comment below if you enjoyed.
> 
> \- J xx


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> In the midst of this absolutely crazy pandemic, I hope everyone is safe and healthy. Sending love to anyone in quarantine, and to everyone else please STAY HOME and practice social distancing to prevent spreading the virus and infecting anyone at risk.
> 
> Thank you for being patient. The last 3 weeks have been frantic and scary. I don't know my posting schedule at the moment as my school is beginning online classes this week, but I anticipate only a few more chapters after this one. 
> 
> Stay safe. Be smart. 
> 
> Love love love,
> 
> \- J xx

_ November  _

_ 4 am  _

Eva woke in tears from a nightmare. 

Her muffled sobs woke Harry first, who threw off the covers and stumbled down the hall, cursing quietly. Louis dragged himself out of bed to warm some milk for Eva in the kitchen. 

This was the third time this week. They didn’t know what to do. Harry wanted to take Eva to a specialist in London, but Louis wasn’t sure it would make any difference. The little girl had an overactive imagination - like every other four-year-old - and they hoped she would grow out of it in time. In the end, the specialist was never contacted. 

Neither of them mentioned the obvious. They couldn’t afford it. 

“Lou,” Harry calls softly. 

Louis turns. The little girl had her legs wrapped around Harry’s waist and arms wound around his neck. She wasn’t crying anymore, but refused to look up from where she had her face buried in Harry’s chest. 

“A bad one, then?”

  
  
“Think so,” Harry sighed, bouncing Eva a little. “She’s not talking just yet.” He tries to look Eva in the eye, peering down at her. “D’ you want to come and sleep with us, love? With Lou and I?”  
  


Eva said nothing. Louis turned back to the fridge, busying himself with a mug and a carton of milk. 

“I’m going to get my guitar, maybe play her a song or summat,” Harry began to gently unwind Eva’s arms. “Can you hold her?”

  
  
“‘Course I can, c’mere Evie.” Louis took Eva from him, her little body still shaking from the nightmare. “It’s alright, darling.”

Harry went in search of his guitar. Louis held Eva in the kitchen for what seemed like a long time, lost in a half-awake haze, not really sure if he was still dreaming or not. Eva still said nothing, only whimpering occasionally, murmuring incoherently. 

The microwave went off, rousing Louis a little. By the time he had the warm milk ready, Harry was back with his guitar case, setting it on the kitchen counter to unlatch it. 

“Alright, sweet.” He says to Eva, who is looking curiously at the guitar case, her face blotchy from crying. “One song, an’ then back to bed.” 

They gather together on the living room floor, Eva in Louis’s lap holding her mug of milk. Harry pulls the guitar strap over his shoulder, reaching for a dark blue pick in the case. The strumming starts out quiet, as not to wake the rest of the building, but Harry gradually builds into the chorus. Louis leans forward with Eva, eagerly awaiting the lyrics. 

_ You gotta see it to believe it, sky never looked so blue _

_ So hard to leave it, that’s what I always do, _

_ So I keep thinking back to a time under the canyon mo-o-on  _

_ The world’s happy waiting, door’s yellow, broken, blue _

_ I heard Jenny saying ‘Go get the kids from school’ _

_ And I keep thinking back to a time under the canyon mo-o-on _

_ I’ve been gone, too long, from you _

It’s a beautiful, swinging melody. Louis’s heard Harry sing before, of course. He hears him in the shower early in the morning, a strong tenor floating under the bathroom door. Harry had a habit of taking long showers, and Louis would tease him for staying in so long that the mirror fogged up. 

He heard Harry singing Eva to sleep sometimes, snatches of a faint lullaby that he didn’t know the words to, but could recognize anywhere. 

This was different. Harry knew this song by heart. Louis could see it in his face, hear it in the confident, swaying tone as he sung it. Could see it in Eva’s eyes, as they lit up in recognition. 

Harry plays the guitar like it’s the easiest thing in the world, switching seamlessly between chords, strumming in rhythm, even winking at Eva to make her giggle. 

Louis loves this - Harry so lost in the music, tangled curls falling into his eyes as he leaned over the guitar. He loves how Harry takes something as simple as a bedtime lullaby and transforms it into a memory. 

_ Staring at the ceiling, two weeks and I'll be home _

_ Carry the feeling, through Paris, all through Rome _

_ And I'm still thinking back to _

_ A time under the canyon moon _

_ I'm going, oh, I'm going _

_ I'm going, oh, I'm going _

_ I'm going, oh, I'm going home... _

When the song is over, Louis smiles at him.

“That’s beautiful. I haven’t heard it before. Who wrote it?”

  
  
“Oh,” Harry looked a bit sheepish, running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit. “Um, I did.”

  
  
Louis laughs. 

“You’re joking.”

  
  
“M’ not. It’s called Canyon Moon. I wrote it for Eva.”    
  


Louis waits for the  _ kidding _ , the full-fledged laughter that always follows one of Harry’s jokes. It doesn’t come. He’s serious, and Louis can’t believe it. 

  
“Harry, that’s... _incredible_.”

Now Harry looks really embarrassed.

“S’ alright. Eva quite likes it though,” He smiles at his daughter. “Time for bed now, alrigh’? You’ve got Lou and I knackered, darling.”

  
  
Eva’s eyes are drooping closed already, and Harry gently pulls her into his arms, already turning for the hall. 

“Harry,” Louis continues, lowering his voice. “Really, that’s amazing. I had no idea you were a songwriter.” 

“It’s a hobby,” Harry admits, shrugging a little. “Not really something I spend too much time on, to be honest.”

But as they put Eva to bed and return to their own, and Harry pulls Louis against his chest and they fall back asleep as dawn rises, Louis thinks it should be.

If Harry can write songs like that, he shouldn’t be working in a bookstore, that much Louis knows. 

  
  


… 

  
  


_ December _

Liam tells Louis that he’s moving back to London on a Saturday morning. They’re in a crowded corner shop cafe, eating stale croissants and drinking bitter coffee. Well, Liam was. Louis refused to drink it, of course. 

“You know I love Donny,” His friend said. “An’ I’ve loved hanging around and being with friends and family, but London is where I need to be right now.”   
  


“You stuck around long enough,” Louis teased him. “I didn’t know how to tell you to leave, it was getting a bit awkward-”

  
  
“Oh, fuck off.”

  
  
“Gladly,” Louis grinned, and then looked at his friend, serious. “I wanted to thank you for being here for me. I wasn’t in a good place. You knew that, and you moved out here anyway. I appreciate it.”

  
  
“Anything for my best mate.”

  
  
“Will I see you soon?”

  
  
“I’ll be back every month or so. I’ve got to visit my mum or she’ll call until I do,” Liam laughed quietly. “And I just got an offer at a publishing office. I think I’m going to take it.”

  
  
“That’s incredible, Li.”

  
  
Liam looks down, tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“...And I met someone.”

  
  
Louis lets go of the croissant he’d been shredding and lets out an obnoxious victory whoop.

“ _ Yes _ ! Payno’s getting laid!” 

A few customers around them look up, perplexed, while Liam goes very red. 

“Chrissakes _ , keep your voice down.”  _

“What’s his name?” Louis asks eagerly, bouncing up and down in his seat like a child. “What does he do? Does he live in London?”

  
  
“D’ you want his home address too? So you can stalk him?”

  
  
“That would be much appreciated, actually. I usually have to find that myself."

  
Liam sticks two fingers up for his troubles and Louis snickers, leaning back in his chair. He only laughed this hard with Liam. His best friend had a way of bringing out the best of him, and oftentimes when he was with Liam, Louis felt like he was a still a rowdy seventeen-year-old, worrying about a crush or a footie match. 

“His name is Elijah,” Liam says quietly. “He’s from London, and he’s in grad school to become a nurse. I met him at a dinner party.”   
  


_ A nurse.  _ Louis mused. Liam had excellent taste in men. Louis was willing to bet that Elijah the nurse was a tall, dark-haired man with a great sense of humor.

  
“How long?”

  
  
“About four months now.”

  
  
“_Liam_,”  
  


“We went slow, Lou. He’s a bit younger than me, an’ I didn’t live in the same city, so we didn’t rush any of it. He’s…” Liam trails off, his eyes lighting up. “He’s amazing, Louis. I love him. I should’ve told you sooner, I know, but I didn’t want to jinx anything. It kind of feels too good to be true.”   
  


Louis reaches for Liam’s hand across the table, squeezing it gently. They look at each other for a moment, nearly ten years swirling between them, and smile. 

“I’m happy for you.”   


  
“I’m happy for you too. I want you to know how proud I am of you, y’ know? What you went through was, well it was hell,” Liam says simply. “I don’t know how else to put it. Losing a partner and a mum all in one go, I can’t even imagine. The fact that you were able to come out of it stronger and with a man like Harry beside you…” Liam trails off, at a loss for words. 

“So when you threatened to kill him that morning in the kitchen, was that necessary?”

  
  
“No,” Liam snaps out of his thoughts, and rolls his eyes. “But I was trying to protect you. Nobody fucks with my best mate.” 

“No,” Louis agress, smiling faintly at the memory. “They don’t.” 

Three days later, with the flat sold and packed into boxes, Louis helps Liam load his things into a moving van and sends him off towards London. 

And as Liam sticks his head out the passenger window, grinning wide, he throws two fingers up. It was their way of saying goodbye, an immature tradition that had started nearly a decade earlier. Louis laughs, remembering it, and holds back his tears. 

He knows they’re going to be okay. 

….

On Christmas Eve - Louis’s birthday - Louis and Harry go to visit Jay’s grave. 

They leave Eva behind with Dan and the girls at Louis’s request. 

“I don’t want her seeing me cry,” Louis explained to Harry. “Not on Christmas Eve.” 

Louis hasn’t been here since after the funeral when he moved back to Doncaster, and he has a sudden urge to comfort the boy who had fallen to his knees in front of this very stone, crying his heart out. 

_ It’s going to be okay,  _ he wants to say.  _ You won’t be alone. You’ll have people to help you. _

If only he knew that the  _ help _ would be an ex-baker, a Hawaiian shirt-clad guitarist with a four-year-old daughter. Or that he’d fall harder for Harry than ever before in his entire life. That he’d be able to say Jay’s name out loud without bursting into tears. that Lottie would forgive him. That he’d stand up to Dylan, and send him crawling back to London. 

The things that changed over time. It was remarkable, really. 

“M’ proud of you,” Harry murmurs, wrapping an arm around Louis’s waist as they stand in front of his mother’s grave. “So proud.” 

“I love you.” Louis says faintly, leaning into him. 

“I love you too.” 

…. 

Christmas Day is an absolute blur of champagne and biscuits and ribbons. In true fashion, Eva wakes Harry and Louis up at six am, absolutely refusing to wait any longer and tugging at their ankles through the covers.

“Pleaassee,” She begged, her face already glowing with excitement. “Please, daddy? Please, Lou?”

  
  
Harry, still half-asleep, opened one eye and mumbled -

“ _ Fine _ .”

Eva shrieked with joy and ran down the hall towards the Christmas tree, already babbling about Father Christmas. 

Harry rolls over on top of Louis, suddenly very awake. 

“Merry Christmas,” Harry murmurs, pressing his face into Louis’s neck, his stubble scratching gently against Louis’s skin. “S’ our first Christmas.”

  
  
“It is,” Louis smiled, reaching up to card his fingers through Harry’s curls. “We should get up, love.” 

“Feels good.”   


  
“We need to get up. Eva will burn the flat down.” 

  
  
“She’s not tall enough to reach the cupboards,” Harry quipped. “S’ where I keep all the matches.”

  
  
Louis snickered, but Harry made no move to get up. Instead, he props himself up on his elbows, looking down at Louis. 

Louis looks up at his boyfriend, with his tousled hair and bare chest, with his tattoos on full display and a mischievous look in his eyes, and decides he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the world. 

“...Know what else would feel good?” 

“We  _ can’t- _ ” Louis laughed, shaking his head. “Haz, no, she’ll hear us.”

  
  
“I can be quick,” Harry promised, leaning down to kiss Louis’s neck. “I can be quick if you can be quiet.” 

Honestly, Louis can’t think of a better Christmas present. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please stay safe! Be smart! Wash your hands! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. As always, feel free to comment below if you did. 
> 
> \- J xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please comment, like, and share if you enjoyed. Writers THRIVE off of feedback, so please don't be shy! I'd love to hear what you thought.
> 
> \- J xx


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